Best Reignited Poems
I hope you would still remember me as we were,
every time you see pristine
passing pomegranate hues of the horizon.
When clouds smear our unspoken love
in inexplicable figurines,
of those simple moments we
reignited beneath our own twilight,
reliving our dreams in
remaining rosy dialects of romantic recollections,
as I have a confession to make
beneath this cluttering of chaos.
I wasn’t ready to let you nor our late night conversations go,
After all these years, all my heart ever desires,
is for you to see the broken empire
behind these weary eyes.
I have long been a gift of solitude and sorrow,
But as I’ve let you go, my hopes swayed a lilac
feathered goodbye,
Although you’ll never know how a simple hey,
once upon a time, saved my life,
and embellished my universe with pearlescent
moonstones and amethysts.
Yet I still question you, in rustic rhymes you can’t comprehend,
Have you forgotten how to pronounce my name?
is it because your heart doesn’t feel the same?
Have your desires now become tame?
As you walk away, why am I the one to take the blame?
Is our love now lost in history?
Is that why you’ve left me in so much mystery?
In your absence the mind battles against violence.
All is mute in a void of meaningless silence.
Did you forget to love me today?
Is this the price I have to pay?
Just for you to say that you’ll love me
again in the same way, someday.
As the final glimpse
of the sun leads into
an everlasting spectacle
of twinkling dreams,
peeking through
turmeric traces
of an amber aftermath,
I listen to the
nesting nightingales
croon nostalgic lullabies,
and search for a
celestial ray
that would illustrate,
the beginning
of
butterflies
within
my glass heart.
When twilight is
just a
mere mirage
in the distance of
my destitute mind,
and tune
of your
laughter
reverberates
in rhapsodic refrain;
a raspy rhythm
ringing
through
rustic breeze,
whilst the
whistling
wind waves
to the
dandelions
dancing
to your
delicate drumbeats,
scintillating stars
fall upon
our silhouettes,
scattering pieces of
who I once
used to be-
within pulsating
flesh and bones,
before I felt the
warmth of your
cosmic whispers.
Now initials of
your amethyst
song is the
penultimate prefix
to my path
of
healing,
where
sentimental sighs
between us,
unveil
wordless
smiles electrifying
a classical crescendo;
awaiting beneath
instrumental wings.
I count the
flickering jewels,
splattered across
nocturnal
night-skies,
questioning if this
is
another
start
of a
weary winter?
or is this just
a seasonal distraction,
intoxicating my
procrastinating pen,
or is your voice a
heaven-sent elixir,
to soothe the satanic
seas evaporating
black salt-
drizzling toxic rain,
upon my
porcelain choir,
synchronizing
a symphony
of soulmates destined
to
reunite and rewrite
a
roseate rendezvous.
Maybe,
fate reignited
to align
the emerald
glow between
you and I,
Maybe, I’ve long
been a wanderer,
on a quest to reach
the rainbow
swirls
above your
musky garden,
where background
music is
the poetry woven
from your
cryptic ink.
You’ll always remain
the
last maestro
in my carnival
of chaos,
amidst the loudness
of screeching demons
chattering within every
darkest sheet of
dreary December.
One lone rose tumbled from the basket,
the same as the others but set apart
All were beautiful. They congregated
in one basket, these Southern belles,
but she, with her pink cheeks, tumbled,
she’d cut her ties. She loved them, indeed,
but not exclusively. No one was there
to hold her by the hand. She knew
and cared about the world out there.
all the southern belles
beautiful, adorned in pink ~
one lone rose cut ties
She’d end up in a beautiful bouquet,
dusted off, picked up from the floor.
She was the bride’s favorite - was she
something new or something old?
She wasn’t sure - it didn’t matter,
she was used for a moment in time,
carried as the piano played, as
the crowd stood to admire the bride.
how the bouquet served,
open to severed flower ~
the pride of the bunch
Puffed-up in the part she played.
The lovely pink dustable would be saved,
dried, sprayed. She was loved, as surely
as if she was the velveteen rabbit, boxed
up - almost nearly ever gawked at. Her
favorite time was when a little girl, who
looked so much like the bride of years-
gone-by, opened the box and picked her up.
surprise opening
admired, crushed, and scattered rose
a little girl laughs
She was admired and crushed and
a puckered up lady scooped her up
and kissed her over and over again
telling her of her favorite flower - a foundling
she admired even with its scattered petals.
kisses are gathered
strewn on the cheeky lassie ~
she’s a gift of life
She gave one petal to the mischievous girl -
“God bless you! May this grow into
a pretty bouquet, special and unique.
I’ve been so blessed, dear one.
May your life be so blessed too.”
understanding not
but love was never forgot
for girl’s heart was full
Then the worn out rose saw the old
bride kiss her granddaughter, again,
as they laughed and the girl’s cheeks
turned an eternal pink, taking on the hue
of reignited petals. She would stand apart
from the rest, though she loved them all
would serve the world. Her name was Rose.
her namesake of old
ruffled, lacy, magi’s gift
a blessing from God
9/1/2022
And what of poetry
Those muffled lies
Exposing truth
Hyphenated hucksters
Working the crowd
Barrel drummers
Echoing a distant rhythm
Hop-scotch rhymes
Keeping time
A rat-a-tat
Of Rappers rants
And what of words
Rekindled, reignited
Scorching sentences
Tortured by line breaks
Altering the meaning
Of repetitive rhetoric
Exploring the caverns
Of cryptic creativity
And what of poets
Wishfully wandering
A whitewashed wasteland
Searching the souls
Of passersby
Glassy-eyed warriors
In search of a cause
Blind believers
Sharing insight
Into a silent wind
I was submerged in
an ocean
of rants,
hiding the sparkles
of my
poetic
planktons.
My meaningless
phrases
that meant
everything,
but
nothing and anything
at the same time.
Yet I found
mermaid melodies
from idyllic waves,
placed
with love
in my heart,
by a
mystical angel
worlds apart,
that felt like home
in so many forms,
when bitter reality
was
crashing
and
thrashing,
my bones with no
mercy or empathy.
Although twin flames
reignited
lost romance,
against every tide of
redolent rhymes
and measured meters,
as couplets destined
to be sweethearts.
In a world
of untold
words
and expressions,
we scribbled
sensual senryu,
and silver sonnets,
along lilac lines
of lavender shadows
where ebony fingers
intertwined to devise,
cryptic potions of
pearlescent personifications,
and
harlequin haiku
as well as
ethereal etherees,
where hourglass nonets
bleed
amethyst alliterations,
forever composing
floral choruses
whilst healing through
free verse
with strawberry musings,
on a sandbank
where islanders
rendered
ravishing runes,
dripping on
chocolate reveries,
about soulmates
that sheltered their
love in
an
oyster
shell.
REINCARNATION THINKING?
Life is like a coloring book
with few or many pages
filled with complex
outlined images.
We are given a box of crayons
and are asked to color in the
background and spaces of the images
Sub-titles are allowed.
When the coloring book is finished
we are given a new one to complete.
C.A.K. 12-6-2012
REINCARNATION THINKING 2 -SOUL SEARCHING
Was I once before or never
Don’t know how or even whether
I was a firefly, a bird of prey
a centipede, a fish fillet?
A baseball fan to keep the score
a mockingbird, a carnivore?
A blossom in the midst of spring
a sign of what the day might bring.
A germ grown in a Petri dish
a chicken bone an unmade wish
All things and species could I be,
even remnants of a tree.
Of all of these, I leave this post,
I am for now what I am most.
CAK 7-23-2012
MORE QUESTIONS ON RE-INCARNATION
As 'core' beliefs thicken so,
does it leave us room to grow?
As aging souls say we must,
complete the cycle which was thrust
upon our bucolic living place
turned upside down in whorling space
searching for a redemptive life.
But for you, dearest one, do you not remember
before you arrived, you took this bucking horse of soul,
tamed it, labeled it and proclaimed it.
To become what you needed in order
that your ride be contained and controlled.
It's name is 'balance' and it keeps you level in the saddle
so you don't fall off.
10-3-2012
REINCARNATION THINKING 3 -
If, we are on a soul journey,
then what must that soul become?
A better soul? A wiser soul?
A sad soul? A learned soul?
Until one reaches the end of time,
There are so many lives to live out
to fully experience all aspects of this world.
Animals, plants - more souls searching?
One can speculate, but from my perspective
none of it makes sense.
CAK 4-03-2012
REINCARNATION ENDING
Was the Phoenix reincarnated?
Or was its embers reignited?
Perhaps before a lowly worm or soldier bee
or brown turned leaf upon a tree?
A seahorse, a shark, which fish shall I be?
In fisherman's net to be eaten by me?
And when the cycle is complete
and x equals x on our balance sheet.
Can we then rest in a celestial lair
with memories gone and unaware
of trials by all things forgotten?
If choose I must or chosen by me,
I'll remain in the stars and just wait to see.
6-2-2012
Sometimes you can love with all you have.
Yet it is never enough to capture a heart.
Sometimes the love fades away over the years.
Hearts are broken without words even spoken.
How can it be that what you have is not enough?
When all you ever want to do is love and adore
What goes wrong when emotions so deep, so strong,
Can’t find expressions to reach the other heart
Yesterday's beautiful memories slowly fade away,
as the love in your eyes gradually dies.
What happened to the promises? Why has the love died?
I begin to dread the day you finally say goodbye.
Goodbye will never touch my lips while they yet draw breath
My heart still beats there, there in your hands, it feels, it bleeds
Though voiceless are the words it thunders, yet its memories speak
Louder than the doubts in your mind; will you listen, will you hear?
I hardly recognize this person lying next to me.
Is it that someone else has your heart, so you shun me.
What do I need to do to make you love me?
Or is this the end? Is my love not enough?
If you wander away, unable to stay, tired of delay...
Know this: my love is feeling and commitment entwined
My love is constancy and ecstasy reignited, redefined
My love is all you'll ever need, when tired, when you bleed
Do you recall the vows you made, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish.
Till death do us part, means you love me until death, not wish it sooner.
Life is a balance of holding on and letting go, so make up your mind.
My heart will bleed, but how can I live with a love that is not true.
Still the doubts that shout; still everything else but this....
Lay your head on my chest, and hear the thunder that prevails
This voiceless beating of words that courses through my veins
While this testament of life remains, my love for you will live.
Oh beloved sweetheart of mine, rest assured, I will fight for our love.
I will reignite that fire in your soul and awaken the ghost of passion.
I will become the object of your affection, the one you carnally desire.
You are my destiny and I, your fate, we merge as one, together and forever.
Silent One and Eileen Manassian collaboration
25 August 2015
"You're here," he whispered from shadows
My fragrance consorted before me
Heady scent of musk-infused blooms
Intoxicating allure, lustfully impure
On the bed was an opened poetry book,
across it pages, a perfect red rose
Dark crimson, like the blood within me flows
heated by need and the greed in his eyes
There burned the wildfires of desire
flames fanned as I moved nearer
They reflected soft glimmers
of the pearlized moon
She, a naughty voyeur, peering in the night
Through an open window she watched
the rhythm of swaying shadows at play
Seductive smile on my vermilion lips
in a chamber painted amber by candlelight
No need of their scintillation to see
His touch was all I needed
to guide me in flights of ecstacy
as hands pleaded in sensual strokes
Diamonds danced across a sapphire sky
He breathed erotic sensations on my nape
and slid a strap of the gown down my shoulder
The pulse of his heart beat against my hand
my other caressed the ruff at his temple
Fuchsia fluttered on the trellised window
Their aroma faded as I inhaled his balm
We tasted love and savored passion
Now sated and replete in a moment of calm
Soft breezes swirled across warm silk sheets
My hand trembled as I reached for him
Wildfires reignited in his emerald eyes
"The night is still young and the moon is asleep,"
I whispered. My intent was not disguised
~ 9/22/17 ~
The Poet's Fire
Hosted by: Greg Barden
I The Phoenix
I recall in my youth how the world around me seemed so alive vibrant in color and beauty. As I aged this beauty faded and was replaced with a new world filled with shades of grey. Life rushed by me quickly, I was no longer able to see the beauty around me. The longer I lived in this new world the more my spirit faded.
One day this new world came crashing down around me and I was left alone, abandoned in the streets. Overcome with fear and loathing I wandered aimlessly among the dispirited and walking dead. I survived on the pity and sustenance portioned out to the lost souls.
I found myself pondering my youth as I walked the streets and wondered where that world had gone. My eyes saw things along the sidewalk that inspired my imagination, I kept these as mementos of life lost. These tidbits of refuse I examined and again found vibrant color and beauty. I began to piece these small tokens together and slowly recreated my youthful vision.
Casting aside my thoughts of returning to the life that had drained away my spirit. I became whole again, I now dwell again in those vibrant colors and an abundance of happiness as were in my youth. Society will not number me among it's herded numbers of spiritless victims.
Authors Note:
3 years of homelessness and destitution opened my eyes and reignited my spirit. If you feel you have lost your way, cast off everything and start anew.
Second Hand Shoe
Bright and new, Stitching over and through, Not sure of your journey but inner confidence beams through.
Boxed off and brave, And now it begins, A lifetime of wonder, Or a lifetime of sins.
Looking ahead full of bravado and grace, Soon filled with warmth, Off the shelf post haste.
Gazed upon by jealous green eyes, Always tempting toward the path of ill lies.
A journey of complacency began, Ignorant of future plan, A journey of life and love, Full of passion. . . Red spirited blood.
Body shock, Blow after blow, As the warmth evaporates, Leaves a hole. . . Your tempered soul.
The miles have met there maker, Love and respect estranged, No more steps to take now, As your self respect is plagued.
Dreams dissolve, No hope can ever be raised, Footprints are a memory, The future a cloudy haze.
A fresh of breath as feeling familiar comes home, reignited your passion for life. . . King and throne.
A tender touch, Welcomed home once more, A new life is given, A new reason to score.
Polish meets spit, Circles of life shine, Feel stronger than before, No second hand on face of time.
Feel determined, The power shines through,
Time to walk again,
Proud Second Hand Shoe.
Splinters and Beams
Stream of consciousness gleams under stark cover
Agents of psychotropic delusion blur and distort
White dust perforating a septum’s divide
Snuffed cuffed to addiction and stuffed
‘You are your downfall as you trip on your ride’
Little pinpricks endorsing a festering skin
Blisters of sinister conscience molested
‘Told you so that heroin sucks into abuse’
Meth crystals inhaled from a broken light bulb
Reignited beaming gleaming from splinters
‘Serves you right you are the scum of the earth’
Magic fungus mushrooming the doomed mind
From a domed cap on a stalk deluding insight
‘You deserve no better procured your decline’
Mary Jane weeding abysmal sativa salivating
with pleasure bleeding a buzz stoned for the thrill
‘All that hippie stuff why don’t you get real’
Flawed dust - broken needle - splintered neon -
Mouldy ingestion – disjointed joint - slushed drink
I never chased the dragon but fell of the wagon
Quite often imbibed left my shame bashed trashed
Befuddled and resolved against judgement when I now
Tend to sweep my side of the street sober and clean
Your splinter is your chip your own fragmentation
My beam is my joist my scaffold and my crossbar to level
15th April 2018
Somewhere in the dungeon of my soul
was a memory I supressed,
and a song, a scent
reignited the place and time long forgot.
And I remember leaving the cocoon we called home
I remember moving to city estate
A communist Block of dingey brick hopelessness
Four stories of balconied flats
Assaulting the horizon with their oppressive ugliness.
I remember unwrapping cotton striped sheets
Claiming a new bed and a corner
In one of four bedrooms
Floors concrete with grey linoleum
the coldness hurt my feet
I remember the pink woolen blankets and the hard grey blankets from council.
Upon opening an obtuse door,
a boxy toilet with an exterior exhaust spinning,
and chain hanging down behind the toilet bowl
The room was always unspeakably cold,
always had to strain to use it.
A kitchen with two windows onto balcony
And a meter for adding coins to buy gas, for bath and cooking
I remember the bathroom separate from toilet
a rectangle room with a bath tub and face basin.
With a noisey point of use gas furnace for hot water. From any part of the miserable flat you can hear the flames heating up water,
And also always unspeakably cold.
I remember the massive parifin heaters that burned all through the night, the soot and the glare
Only the living room had central heating, a one buyer gas grate that heated the living room
I shed many tears on the concrete balcony staring at countless hapless pensioners and dolers alike
Faces stamped on hard with one expresion, hopeless resolve.
Our flat was on the third floor
Past ground, one was fine, two thighs burning,
three, always the stench of stale piss in puddles
Not on the wall like men do,
No these depositors stooped to render their rank fluids on the middle bank of the flight of steps,
a little privacy there.
I would never call this place home
Like a prison I would merely bide my time and fly away.
Bona fide baroque melodies resonated concert halls in Italy
Reigning Western Europe with elan more than a century
Until new composers innovated into avant-garde music
As ennui artists soon after wrote romantic modern beats.
Cacophony of sounds emerged after advent of modernity
As talent won carte-blanche to write popular harmonies.
Feeling of deja vu echoed sounds in modern-day music halls
When baroque compositions reignited latent fond-memories.
Dilettante musicians did not succeed except as an anomaly
For the musical world crowns only the best of its creativity.
January 18, 2018
Ten words, ten lines contest by Silent One
Inside cooped up in my loft all autumn with writer’s block, it was time. I arrived on New Year’s Day. I wanted a fresh start, so I took a well-deserved hiatus.
Such grandeur, and glory, partaking in wine, croque monsieur and then champagne so decadent. I met him in a bar café, the one alongside three others in a row! He indulged my fancy with a Moulin Rouge cabaret, a real gentleman; flamboyant, debonair, and flippant. Montgenevre mistakenly booked my room. By chance of fortune, he overheard the desperation of my voice, cawing at the matradee. “I know my way around. We’ll find you a place to stay until they get their affairs in order.”
I heard a voice whisper, “You can stay as long as you like, mon chéri.” This morning I awoke alone, I remember late last night looking out his high-rise apartment window, down at the four cafés', to see what he sees, think what he thinks. Long leggy locals, intoxicating femme's, drinking peppermint schnapps to tame the harsh chill of January. Perusing today’s paper, I noticed his name, Emile Zola VI. He’s a journalist?! My muse reignited my passion to write. A work in progress.
A croque monsieur-is a hot sandwich made with ham and cheese.
Skeleton quay - abridged for Give Me Goosebumps contest
When the sniper fired his rifle and his faithful canine fell
A second bullet found his heart and he went down as well
Might we stay together, somehow he deigned to try
His last exhale the whispered vow, Lord, we must not die
Army medics took him, in vain, his life to save
His hero German Shepherd in a stoney desert grave
And then his own cremation, yet he remained aware
Ethereal intervention withdrew his corpse from there
Something in his mind just knew his dog was somewhere yearning
Shame the intervention came when he was near done burning
Two thousand miles of skimming clouds or bounding over sea
This canine’s epic trek has brought him to his hometown quay
He only gets to hear him when a crescent moon shines bright
Perhaps they do as ghost ships do just pass by in the night
Each one knows the other’s close, they’ll reunite in time
He’s of a mind to bide his time fighting low-life crime
He prowls the night in shadows twixt the bat the rat and cat
Keeps his hairless cranium hid beneath his tan rimmed hat
And lest he scares the homeless like he's been born out of hell
Behind dark shades his vacant sockets hide away as well
Whilst he has no need for food - he hasn't any guts
He passes time by nibbling packs of jelly beans or nuts
They bounce around his ribcage then trail along the ground
To feed Cedric his rat sidekick who follows him around
It takes a while but then a smile at four wet footprint marks
No phantom howl, a joyous wail and then some playful barks
Man and dog now reunited, distant bond now reignited
Cedric tried it, couldn’t fight it, three good friends now all delighted
And so they prowl the shadows where no lawful man shall dare
Only those of I'll intent shall stand or loiter there
But nothing here shall cause them fear nor get under their skin
A knife glints in the moonlight and they cannot help... but grin.
18 December 2018
For: Give Me Goosebumps
Sponsor : Nina Parmenter