Best Sans Poems
Note : This poem is inspired by the artwork and we chose to focus on it from a mental health perspective and how inner demons can play a significant role in relationships as well as considering siren myth and legend.
I am the eclipsed dawn,
swathed in searing blooms,
hemorrhaging the heat of restless smoke
into perfumed thorns
and sighing thistles ~
whilst aching to be loved
beyond the damage I cast,
like the queen of darkness,
dancing with demons.
Let your exhaustion cascade into me,
all being healed between this madness and rest.
Incessant pull caresses insistent longing;
collapse and captivation fuse to desire.
Flesh and energy intoxicate these bodies
in the time before hunger evaporates.
Death charges on
as you follow me into the stillness.
And what if the first spark of stars
hardened our night into a kingdom
of ice and frost,
of hurt and hollowness ~
would we not remain infatuated lovers,
pouring poison into
the grass that breathes
in chronic colors of this doomed devotion?
Without surrender, we sing in silence,
yet our swooned hearts remain drowsy from swirling strings,
twisting and turning on a surface seared severely by the sun.
What better way to fill the air with the fragrance of our thirst?
Let us fade into the dim fog
as we cosmically flourish ~
a forest of lustrous chaos, unseen, unbound.
Hold me in a cluster of all your stars,
the delicate ones you’ve laminated and fear might scar.
I’ll cradle them in the softest scarves ~
but even roses carry thorns all the way down their stems.
Sometimes ... there is no reason
for morning tears.
Distracted me
tangled in the debris
of a raging sea.
So very small
the moment
meant
nothing at all.
And what of that day ....
dismade bed
dirty sock left on the kitchen floor
I was going to scrub a week ago
left me crying and
cursing
falling to pieces
where is my other shoe
my toes are cold
speed bump on shaky knees
spills my morning tea.
Sometimes there is no reason ....
somewhere
red poppies
grow
fertilised
by blood
sun
and
winter snow
lost
freedoms
seed
on widow's
weeds
sadness flows
to that
no-mans land
where
there
are
but crows
Sans ego, who are we
“All that is, is God-consciousness ~
Dance divine, in sheer playfulness “
____________________________
Presupposing separation from God,
we thus eclipse the light by our own hand,
playing mind games until heart’s lust has thawed,
whereupon soul’s freed, right here where we stand.
We’re here on earth, to imbibe love by touch,
suspending judgment and narrow belief,
letting go of ritualistic crutch,
making room within, granting soul relief.
Let love distil each and every action,
before it’s release as thought, word or deed,
mindfully calming ego’s reaction,
which is self-serving, spawning fear and greed.
Strange is this God-search game of hide and seek
His abode’s in our heart ~ take a sneak peek
23-June-2022
Normality is what I seek but the
world revolves in its sans-serendipity.
So many extra days thrown in, you see
the world on its own course, no one takes pity.
I enter boredom in another world.
I’m not in control of anything real.
But the the dog warms up my feet, unfurled;
my heart wanes of anxiety, and I’m healed.
Thoughts froth, crest, and merge through ocean’s
indiscriminate wandering, no recognizable
beginning or end like smoke on the wind,
melding, melting, fusing coalescing.
Reality a fragile grasp held on
a two-dimensional canvas once white,
clean, stretching taunt, taunt as the
implausible reality of our existence-
existence standing, stranding, hair, fur, frond's
weaving about crowns of trees in rye fields.
Everything alive, writhing, wanting,
needing, thriving, dying-skin crawling reality
like orange oil on the hollow cheeks of despair.
Pain, defies, belies, confusion's frame stretching
upon illusion's claim-eye to hand, hand to brush
the clean, white, membrane between brain pan and
paint pan. No recognizable beginning or end
melding, melting, fusing, coalescing-gone.
Self-Portrait with Fur Cap, Bandaged Ear & Pipe
Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890 Dutch)
First Published in Five Poetry Magazine 2013
In sang-froid, sass cords:
Sangoma dashes siren,
Thunder crashes trunk;
Sarky banters with lippy.
Spim for Santa maidenhead.
the following quite quirky epistle may not exhibit the ordinary characteristics of poetry, but i decided to share this self made challenge (where every word begins with the letter "S" - no explanation can be offered why such self cerebral torture imposed, nor what motivated me to focus on the nineteenth letter of the english alphabet at the exclusion of other noble vowels and consonants.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Sunday September seventh started seemingly same since...silver screen show secured seventy seven SeventhSeals.
Soupy Sales supreme salient strengths (starring smart pet sidekick Springer Spaniel Socrates) salvaged sagging sporting sorties. Slap stick stereotypical swashbuckling shticks supplied shipshape shenanigans.
Spartan stage set spurred spontaneous simply stupefying solution. Suede shod schlemiel. Sartre seasoned scenes. Sharp sticks supported sphere. Seats situated semicircular semblance.
SPCA, Siemens, Sears sponsored soiree. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious shouted satirically 'specially Saturdays seemingly sellout. Spontaneous spritely Shogun Samurai sangroid stance satiated slipups stripping stellar seasoned Skidamarinks substitutes sacredly, seminally, silently, slipstreaming soulfully saving saga.
Sometimes silly spouse studiously sought spurious strategy stringing superlatives showcasing senseless sophomoric soporific skills specifically spelling storybook sassy sharpshooters supposedly sleuthing shapeless seated sideways (sic seasonal slate smug spotified snapchatting skippers selfishly scooped sloop-ful seasonal six-packs) sinister Swiss scalpers sat sometimes squatted.
If you ever can dance
En français s’il vous plaît
Avec les enfants
Get in on, let the walls fall along
See all the colors
See all the little ones
Writing love notes on the elder’s wall
Peace no longer can you forestall
Je marche dans mes rêves
I cry for all the dying and the dead
Birds are flying children crying
The winds of change will come a flying
We are one, l'amour c'est toi
L'amour, tous qui rêvent d’avenir
It’s only a childs heart
That holds humanity dear
Destiny
Holds us together
Division
Murs that drive us apart
Kids United
Singing for a new start
Sur ma route
C'est possible; c'est tout.
Bailar
A Collaboration with Arthur Vaso
Like a fish out of the water
you caught me by surprise
and
my mind a continual motion machine
perpetuates my nervousness
and endorphins
push through my veins like
an excitatory Water Park.
Initially when I began to speak to you it was like going going down the waterslide with
the 50 foot drop… I always was afraid of heights.
But sometimes there is that moment in your life. Where you have to face the Diving board.
You Know the one where you always have to take a running start….. to clear your mind of
the fact that you could belly Flop.
Who knew it could be so difficult to get the courage to leap before you look
To be timid is not within my nature yet
I pace back and forth..
Pick up the phone, put it back down.
Curse at myself for being such a coward.
What the hell is this all about??
Am I stuck in Growing Pains an overly innocent sitcom from the 1980s
Oh my god………..
I am meandering. Since when did I meander?
Sans compass
how should I route myself from avoiding the
awkward conversation
Because there are always two options
Either you could come out on top like at the Showtime at the Apollo
Or you can kiss your chances goodbye if you try to produce
some awfully terrible retorts for banter
Ohhh Lord… Does this mean.. the distinct change in personality…. means……
I have a Crush?
The word brings back such childhood memories
Rewinding back through time, like an old cassette deck tape
Buzzing faster then the beat of a bumblebee's wing
I am back to where I began.
Sans Compass
No that can’t be it
I guess I have to
Really look at myself in the mirror
pull back the hair out of my eyes, and
know that inside of my chest wall
beats my wildcat heart entity.
I will walk towards you fearlessly.
LOVE AND SEX LIGHT POETRY READ SANS FEAR
love is a book
sex is sport
sex is choice
Love is luck
Love is notion, theorem
love is melodrama
sex is cinema
Sex is imagination, fantasy
love is prose
sex is poetry
Love makes us
pathetic
Sex makes us
as if we were
epileptics...
Love is christian
sex is pagan.
Love is latifundia
sex is invasion...
Love is divine
sex is animal,
love is bossa nova
sex is carnival...
Love is forever
sex too,
sex is for health
Love is from wealth...
Love without sex
is just friendship
sex without love
is just will, sexualship
love is one
sex is two
sex before
love after...
Sex comes from others
and walk away
love comes from us
and remains
love is christian
sex is pagan
Love is latifundia
sex is invasion
Love is divine
sex is animal
Love is bossa nova
sex is carnival
love is it
sex is that
And stuff and thing
and such and thing
oh love
hmm sex... !
Ps interliterary translation of a poem-song AMOR E SEXO sung by Rita Lee, Brazilian singer words from
Arnaldo Jabor Brazilian filmmaker
already deceased...
by alkas poetry translation....
song in portuguese sung BY RITA LEE., guitar Roberto Carvalho her husband
https://youtu.be/px9PQPonjwg
Funeral Cortege Sans Protocol
The autumnal equinox period
Spells time for worship, pilgrimages
Rituals and a pandemonium
Of festivities and gay hyperactivities
The elephant godhead idol
Over decked, anointed
With all fervour is immersed
In its watery bed amidst chantings
Its worshipped form
Turns to formlessness
The formless deities rise at dawn
Bleating like sacrificial lambs
Leaving a trail of dismembered limbs
On shores like the carnage of pilgrims
Heaped on one another in Mecca
After the great crane's death knell
A convoy of trucks arrive to pile
The mutilated aftermath of their godly images
Littered unwanted on the golden sands
Sweep the once worshipped but
Now shredded and tattered earth's burden
On their slow funeral cortege sans protocol
SECOND
Balveen Cheema
November 11, 2015
Contest: Dark Poetry
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
When we met that day, we were strangers at bay
Seeking a companion, my eyes met yours with gay
An unwritten bond enveloped you and me
Destined to be life partner everyday
Days and months and years passed
Our relationship changed tracks by the way
My love demanded sex, yours sought commitment
Life seemed a chore, none of us had a say
Love borne out of compulsion, we became partners at bay
Our love was blind, exposed day by day
Years down the line, my eyes have opened
Only to realize you say to my love “nay”
Is it too late! – am afraid you shall never
Meet my eyes with love and gay
Sitting alone with lost hope to win back your commitment
Come back O Dear’, I wait for that day
… Suresh M Iyer
Winkin Blinkin And Nod, Sans...
Wonderful World Of Dreamland Furloughed!
Hours elapsed since I did sleep off
and feed my belly from the trough.
What...the...creaking screech re: sound
ding, (an unexpected pro noun
sub bull mashup attributed
to partial government shutdown
point middle finger at dented prez clown.)
The night of my spectacularly
exhausting seventh birth,
I dreamt about an amazing fictitious place,
and taint nope pull lace on Earth
cozily warm like a wood burning hearth
where embers snap,
crackle, and pop with mirth
best show in shutterfly REM
hmm...memory wool worth
(at least for near future) stayin alive
whiskey indeed no comparison, dip pin dive
ving into subconscious realm, and drive
ving devotees mad, 'specially when bing
a barf hull lie ("FAKE"),
thus wide awake temper
aerily perhaps til five
(more minutes), when buzz zee as bee hive
honey combed noggin will cease to jive,
and crown jewel will suddenly seize
gnome hatter, hatter how hard I strive
to stay awake
for no particular rhyme, nor reason
won during, how far
this chap can push himself to break
king point, which presently me make
foolish poem just to slake
hun heed to slather palaver
which yukon leave or take,
since essentially nary a clue
handy dan dee blues zee drew
pea senseless blather
basically (AWOL) din flue
zee brooked stream of consciousness
writing whatever zaps glue
pee bobbing sponge with grayish hue
cranking out words as they snap,
crackle and pop to this Jew
dishy us scrivener knew
dulling in an attempt
to splash unexpurgated lue
nah see gobbledygook, yes
sigh hug gree quite loo
pee, yet this long
(in the dent chord tooth) fell hoo,
he experiences silly (NOT solid) state
ready to moo
myself to supine pose new
matter, an unusual burst
of energy recharged
ordinarily inactive cerebral queue,
hence maximization left no time to rue
rationality upended in
frenetic attempt to spew
until...capacity to type another letter
sputters, a dog send to you
and all otter readers within
the webbed whirled wide human zoo!