Best Rosaries Poems
prologue's entry
it’s as ancient as
the salt missing
in the dead sea
it doesn’t hold
that essence
in its tears
it looks over
its dominion
the souls
kissing its feet
entry point
found in the cracks of
over zealous blowing
their self-righteousness
stood on
soap boxes
they know better
let them speak
watch them
war with each other
it swallows opines
it feeds
prologue’s entry
it never leaves
it watches
the eyes of others
windows open
virtuous with bravado
pushed to believe
only when they are on their knees
when the truth monster
struts in
shutters close
not so brave
to defend, to endure
what they speak
it thinks
it waits
Prologue's entry?
it never left,
it never sleeps
Prologue's entry
Entry's prologue
as above,
so below
it watches them
in mirrors
invisible,
yet seen
soon
to be believed
it reads them,
like the other
it knows
them all
soon
to be believed
"what's inside them?
is it made of strength?
unbreakable?"
like a Vampire
it will impress promises
seduce them with
safety in its arms
it felicitates its
kind of freedom
"what's inside them?
is it made of strength?
unbreakable?"
stood on their
soap boxes, towers
the same as rosaries
soon
to be believed
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Entry” / Lisa Gerrard
https://youtu.be/6n_oDTpIc6k
Tim had all the necessary ingredients right next to his ancient burner
Shark teeth dangling from a sunken necklace at the cutting edge but
The amulet had turned into chains and shackles grinding the chef’s mind
A lost recipe for happiness but and he had no appetite for nourishment
Attrition boiled over when nutrition resembled a poisonous chalice
Too tired to take stock he dwelled on his primordial soup turning back
Primitive and involuntary he turned on the gas and smelled his demise
Rotten onions had depleted his tears thinly sliced and disguised
Fetid leeks leaked misery a trickle or two at full stagnant pace
Spoilt thyme oozed malodorous rosaries into beads of corrosion
Squashed tomatoes splashed foul decomposition into his eyes
Fennel funneled his vision into a bubbling hell of indigestion
Olive oil splashed straight into his heart with no glimmer of peace
Cantankerous garlic would not fend off his festering demons
While a bay leaf could not keep mortally morose sadness at bay
Great white oblivion but slowly Tim made friends with predation
Resolved he was allergic to fishy feelings and toxic distaste
He did not remember at first how to simmer emotions and passion
But onions started to sprinkle tears of joy and the shark pointed the way
Soon leeks from a Welsh legend delineated friend from mal-aligned foes
Thyme soothed his splattering cough and he found his true inner voice
Tomatoes seeded bright red orange chakras from base to the top while
Fennel fought of bloating depression and conquered agony’s cramps
Previously oblivious oils from virginal growth re-birthed him into life
He licked his wounds and wild garlic from an ocean of wonderment
And chose the berries from a long forgotten and noble laurel tree
Tim had barked up the wrong perspective and had muted the roar
Eventually he conjoined ingredients recipe and fortunate blessings
Left the sharks out of the chowder and slurped smooth soup into his shell
When Neptune's
nostalgic sighs,
weave ruffled rosaries
of brocade ink,
bleeding from
blackberry wrinkles
in torrential time,
I wonder if
herculean eyes
of my earthen heart,
are afraid of being
abandoned by the
electric rhapsody
of life's alienated
aroma.
Swinging on the
translucent
parabola of a
frozen rainbow,
my fate is
skewed as a
cantaloupe
silhouette, of
helix-shaped
maple pamphlets,
where, bluebirds
feast on decaying
seeds of love
and sing
hemlock-croons
in those magnolia
gardens.
But,
what if stars
were edible and
I devoured their
ivory scintilla,
submerging
cosmic potions
in my arteries,
iridescent with
clusters of
quasar's quivering
rays and pulsar's
pistachio glitter?
So now,
I collect
volcanic ash
from rust-orange
ruins of dahlia's
dreamscape
and embalm
them with
paradise-pink hues
of distilled empathy,
for my swan-white
halo of faithful
silence, is still
glowing with
sombre yet
glossy shine
of the linen sun
and I inhale
the fragrance of
my marshmallow moon.
one last glearyeyed look
towards the clouded-sky,
and the legs trapped beneath her shook
loose the one thought she'd always denied.
she would watch his hand sweep
& cradle her neck, saying goodnight,
her eyes would follow and keep
watching his fading form, long out of sight.
his paintings always held something she loved,
black roses, swirling van gogh clouds,
overgrown gardens, virgin mothers in shrouds
at the foot of ashwood rosaries.
she a catholic, he the eucharist,
her acrylic oil dreams knew nothing of this tryst.
the way this magdalene posed for her last
portrait made her last painted tear,
her last skyward gaze immortal, or past,
divinity, or near.
He was baptized into slavery
And submerged in the winter
Of your hatred
And was converted to poverty
In the land of gold,
You taught him that GOD
Was a white baas
Who had invented the pass!
And the police were
The angels of death,
He learned to read
Whites only
Lest he fall into heresy
And desecrate your piss-pots,
And as you crept
Out of the garden
Of your humanity
And excommunicated
Yourselves from justice
And damned your generation
Chained in gold
To a leper colony,
And as he stumbled
Through his oppressive crucifixion
You took him off your cross
And sold him in the market place
To mercenaries while you counted the rosaries
Of your crimes to man,
Now he a victim
Of your greed
A witness to your crimes
Is finally free.
Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,
except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy
Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.
We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.
From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.
Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.
To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.
The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.
Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.
I FELT LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
Heartbeats slow~to~rush, slow~to~rush in blue blithesome air,
faces spotlight the summer sun, their laughter notes: a choir of February flair.
When eyes match the brilliance of diamonds and cheeks bud like roses unreserved,
the dulcet of shoots and tingles intercourse: non-stop thrilling every nerves,
skin gloss by flaming wonder wheels triggering senses to ripple and dare,
thoughts even suffer a sudden stroke despite rosaries of whispered prayers.
It is as if ten-thousand fireflies constellate mimicing the farthest stars,
I am leaping beyond the winds and hopping on the rim of a tilted caramel jar.
Has a swarm of fallen meteors, melted in rainbow dyes, envelope my heart?
How did the sullen sorrows I have~ within sighs slowly tear apart?
Melancholy disperse as circus melody hugs hearts beating in lowly breasts,
chains of interludes harp no shame as pure intentions are expressed.
My bosoms has been dressed by famine-tattered scars, I moaned complains,
but in the name of love authored by God, new life with you, I gain!
__________________________________________________________________
~~for DANCING with DESCRIPTION CONTEST ~~
~~Sponsor: Casarah Nance~~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
2:26 pm, November 11, 2015
Dreams frolic
in the basket of the mind.
Like Easter eggs on Sunday grass
pastel hands for slowing time.
A misty- trusting face
just beyond the frosted glass.
A spirit mare with fiery mane
that licked the heart with lips aflame...
then backhanded
your naive face into the fangs
of loneliness, refrain.
In place of friendly smiles
were sirens with hollowed hearts, void of any grace.
The leather-souled elders taught you the art of
kneading hope then weaving scars.
Turning a room of bitter spirits into angels
taming the bucking flanks of moody stars.
The golden-mouthed flutist
whispers of a long- forgotten dream,
when ice cream trucks and noon church bells
flowed into the soul like rose petals on the wind...
When streams of angels waltzed with innocents....
upon a stage of gilded rosaries.
Now, everything is forever lost.
The flesh-the bone- the burlap- the silky sweet.
The heavy metal of our youth
minced into the thinning cloth of age.
Most every soul is gifted to the silversmith,
who forges halos and shimmering wings...
while a few are hung upon the tusk of
the icy, gray slag heap.
Spacious, glistening as far as straining sight can wander,
Playful waves reflect the light in joyous, rippling prance,
Effervescing the myriad, resplendent sherbet-sky
Colors in flashing pirouettes, a ballerina dance.
Tides wash in and, weeping, withdraw from sentinel shores,
Aching, yearning for each returning, salt-cleansing spray,
Cresting upon warm sweeps of widely welcoming sand,
Undulating sound like the rosaries lonely nuns pray.
Layers of foaming laughter dissolve, then mount in raucous cries,
Arcing across the mighty oceans of this planet,
Rustling, swaying branches or mighty, charging samurais.
Copyright, January 13, 2016
Faye Lanham Gibson
"The Dreams of Bedes"
Jewels they found
dripping like diamonds
from the overflowing viaducts
scattered on the ground
at the feet of disbelief
barely seen
shod lost and disobedient
counting the cost for
unwanted inconvenience
those bridges burn now like
scarlet rubies blood read
the swords dipping
like dancers tango
tripping machiavellian
tomes marked requiem
for burying
tongues caught
between teeth, closed lips
dance ruthlessly
through all the walls
biding their time, what is left
rustling
the notes felt
in an unseen breeze
opening doors
tinkling keys for all
riders on the storm
to take their discourteous leaves
from the exterior world
to make pearls on strings
of words
recounting station
to station
rosaries each
scored venerable
for the dreams of shining bedes
broken and restrung
never over
just begun
music
for
Black Boy Roses
smiling
with the Sun
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
VIVALDI «Filiae maestae Jerusalem» (II Sileant Zephyri)
https://youtu.be/xW19qNYQDXQ
"Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house, we're born
Into this world, we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the storm..."
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bede
Bedes/plural.
Beads.
I was encompassed within the sullen lust
Of gentrified prepositions
Incomplete adjectives layer the magnitude of
My emptied valor
I became entrenched in the touch
The smile
The tears
Of wistful elegance
This onyx cry
Now turns into an everlasting echo
I sing to these gated heavens
Where visionary angels no longer
Give me a second glance
Expectations rot unto red herrings
As supple conundrums
Insist my smile
Will “be ok”
The most conformed lie,
The most performed cry,
I was ever beaten with
…
Salted whips bless this tenderness,
Her one-armed caress
Diluted into illicit “flawlessness”
And I would have digressed
But, I became stronger
When she yelled at my infantile stance
Hunchback of forbidden damns
Burying our luminescent memories
In fear’s corrupted sands
My vulnerable love
Now life sentenced
She turned my open arms
Into vindicated assault rifles
As she cocked the clip
Of my abused remnants
Oh, how your abandoned grace
Blessed my broken rosaries
With silent goodbyes
Yet, here on bent knee
I still cry
I still cry
…
For the return
Of your identity
All of your eloquent mistakes
As your altered ego
Strokes the girth
Of fear’s liability
And I dare you to push back against
My scarred & humbled smile
I do not fear you today
I do not fear you tonight
I will not fear you tomorrow
No matter the weight of my sorrow
For my poignant love
Will always shine brighter
Than your poisoned fear
Of my tattered innocence
©D.J.E.
IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON AND HOLY SPIRIT
Born and baptised in the Greek orthodox faith,
Often went to church with my dad at the Anglican
Church, kissed the Pope’s ring when he visited
The Convent, all the way from the Vatican,
Held a key in my heart and soul for all three of
These religions, that is how it was meant to be,
Decorative Rosaries, Christmas Carols that I love,
Hand painted Greek Icons , all destined to be, an
Integral, all-encompassing and faithful entire me!
"Parable"
When the other
side of night
came to collect its token
I was starlight
unsinkable invisible
some uncaptured mystery
that would never again
be broken mortal
like an egg shell
under the bickering feet
of men, listening to
their own voices
their pathetic arguments
lost in the loud egos
of the better-thans
and the small gods speak
like poets
conjuring sane insanity
resurrecting
events
on their daisy chains
counting numbers
like computus
Beded rosaries
loves me
loves me
not
until every flower
gone, plucked
and lifted up
inside all
reigns
the returning Parable
Water of Life
drenching all
doused in Love
lit,
each one
drop by drop
become an
Ocean inside an Ocean
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Lux Vitae
Ludovico Einaudi - Night (Lørean Flip)
https://youtu.be/mNOoPEcfPLM
Bede -
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bede
Computus -
https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Computus
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Date_of_Easter
Communion
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/communion_1007994
Rev 21:1-22:6 (NIV)
John 4: 1-26 (NIV)
A man of faith waits his turn
to propel to the luxuries of heaven.
Last night he slept alone
with rosaries hung upon his headboard.
A recent convert to the Catholic faith.
Exposed to God through steel bars.
He sleeps in peace, repentant and calm.
A family restless blasts the heavens
awaiting retribution for a brutal sin.
A family sleeps in a home
with an empty bed, in an empty room.
A daughter, a sister waits in heaven.
I repent, therefore, I am free
To live forever in luxury
Heaven awaits for me to come
God is thy Father, and I his Son
He took my child forever away
And here on earth, tormented I stay
I pray for her, and I pray to cope.
Faith in God, I remain to hope
I feel solidified
Captured in blue-green horizon
They are eternal and faceless
My lungs; brown paper bags deflating
My milk structures are curdling
There are tiny mouths taking microscopic airs
Aerated and heavy as oxygen in a stone sphere
Gaumless and watched by black-ochre shadows circling
Compacted as mud underfoot and crushed
By reaching hands exploring my hollow flesh
Taking me further down and circles of dust
Rosaries in waterlogged,