Best Sculpts Poems
When Thor struck his hammer
upon the flat ground on Earth
it was the pieces withstood the blow we named rock,
constructs we came to know as the mountains.
Even before that time
I crossed my fingers
wished I'd one day experience
...you.
I knew you before heavenly purity grew wings
before angels blessed hearts
invoking what we now know as love for our brethren .
I held you in the sphere of my understanding
as the lover I'd never meet but always carry
in the most cherished of my thoughts.
When Zeus handed me his quill and inkwell I knew
I would only use his gift for my inspired notes to you.
Though I was not blessed a poets words
like Robert Browning
he who took Elizabeth Barrett into his heart from the first time he read her
so I did with you.
Only laid blood on parchment
to declare the love you inspired in me.
Like a schoolboy's first kiss
was the day my eyes embraced the body of your work.
Before the first pine broke the ground, the first lark sang,
the first orchards rare enchanted the rainforests.
Before the first chameleon blended
into the multicoloured break of dawn.
Before infinite rows of wheat invitingly waved from the fields to greet Hera.
Before liquid rose to separate into
creeks, swamps, rivers, lakes with fish of all kinds
wasn't it me who rode the first seahorse just to make you smile.
Anything, all...
possible
with the swirl of a letter
the turn of a word.
I found an immense love tracking the shores of your fine poetry
always a chill that ran up my back.
No one.
No one!
Only you.
Your fine talent,
gifted,
honed
perfected...flaws and all...
moulds
sculpts,
breathes life into ordinary words,
creates poetry
owns me.
September 26 2016 MY
What is this unseen power
It changes all that exists into dust
It shapes our lives and our landscapes
It sculpts and changes us.
What is this unseen power
That rules the world of men
That heals and teaches and equalizes
That triumphs again and again?
Time is that great master
Of power and wisdom and grace
Which by doing nothing but passing
Leaves its mark on every place.
Time...yes you can waste it,
But be aware when you do
Time will return the favor my friend
And eventually start wasting you.
BEAUTIFUL SADNESS
“The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows
brown and sear.” William C. Bryant
Does she hear the tinkling bell in her sweltering state? No breath seems to touch her face nor move her hair out of place. The wan dove seems beautiful ~ he says, “she’s mine,” in disbelief. He says this on a loop but she never embraces his hook.
She clings to dust and nothing more. The x-ray mirror probes her bony exterior, where her lips neither pout nor grin, barely touch in chagrin. He sees they’re slightly pink and his heart pounds in his chest. This melancholic queen’s all his.
In wintermoon she moans, though she walks amidst the lilies of Spring. The leaves fall all around her, though they cling to majestic oaks. Pine needles fall from her fingers - though for her love, he sees Christmas trees rainbow bright, sashaying with silver and golden garland, “mine,” like a starling he chirps and the bluebird of happiness galls her though she’ll never let him go.
melancholy deep
dark and beautiful - naked
void with shutter-eyes
custodian sculpts goddess
so lofty he can’t reach her
7/19/2019
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019- Melancholy- Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Quatrain #55:
CHOICE
Voice sacred trust in words that flow,
Poise knows you must bring truth to show;
Noise is but rust that corrupts good,
Choice now sculpts bust where beauty glows.
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
12 September 2015
Singapore
Lush pretentious garden sculpts to be gleaned.
Fullness of repose with sweet quiet sound,
fruitful, and forbearance draw nature's ground.
The sensuous feel, oft seasons has seen.
Butterflies noiselessly stir round fragrant
sweet allure angel's tears; with airy grace
scatter elsewhere to perennial space.
Ants, beetles, and birds herald, spring vagrants.
Wind nimble bend forth, leaflets surrender
mere fragrance in its resilience breath span,
devour one complete, hence its roots began.
Spring vernal equinox, has force to render.
Spring arises in gallantly through ardor
in the wake of hints still left from winter.
2/22/2019
Draped over the land like a ghostly shroud,
a blanket of morning mist
morphs into rolling banks of fog;
soft as an eider-filled duvet.
Dawn rebukes Night's claim to darkened skies
and armed with chisels of light,
sculpts ebony shadows
into shifting shapes,
sent scurrying into nooks and crevices.
Pink, indigo, and blue hues
expunge an ebony canvas of stars and moon;
as color emerges from first light.
While a bashful breeze blows silhouettes into disarray;
etch-a-sketching, a brand-new day.
And subtle sleeping sounds, slowly awaken;
giving voice to Nature:
while a scarlet sun silently shimmies up a crimson sky.
Spring, Summer, and Autumn are Her rival,
but they all pale to Winter's arrival.
She is less subtle than the other three,
so shelter's a matter of survival.
Jack Frost is tethered to Her every whim
and She enjoys exclusive use of him.
She's fond of the art that He chisels on
windowpanes, though frost is but a prelim.
Winter's an artist; freezing flakes of snow,
She sculpts an iceberg archipelago.
She is a master of frozen beauty,
and a heartless generalissimo.
I saw a few tumbling snowflakes today,
harbingers of many more on their way.
For it's getting below freezing outside,
and the children have gone inside to play.
Suddenly, the sky is feathered with flakes
of confetti; Winter won the sweepstakes.
And when Her season becomes official,
She'll rule over all lands, rivers, and lakes.
(Rubaiyat)
Nov. 16, 2018
(Dedication: For my PoetrySoup friend Funom Makama.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Faith anchors well
Fond feel that tells
Hope knows a sight
Where faith casts light
Love hints and calls
In rise and fall
Dare find the way
To walk each day
It's plain to see
What yet may be
Dare venture far
With love on par
Let faith bring hope
Where love sculpts scope
Live journey trip
Dare fashion grip
All in due time
Chimes sync with rhymes
Leon Enriquez
21 May 2017
Singapore
The mind of God
populates a universe
there is no distance between
the maker and the made
the expression and the source –
The Almighty speaks
and the sum of Him listens –
responds with creative elegance
we are designed by The Master
formed by the grace of His
Generous Heart, in the studio
of His Divine Nature
Love is His Template
love moves the brush
that blushes and highlights
Love sculpts and contours
refines and presents
The Forger of all canvases
and their gold-leaf frames –
the Architect of breath-full theaters, our
adorned castles of enchanting showcase
we inhabit, exalt, and are blessed to
personally proclaim –
we are living portraits...may
we animate, promoting deep
respect for the Munificent Artist of All
Being – Our Daily Bread! Amen.
God sculpts man from clay
Theist debates atheist
Man sculpts God from fear
Come chase butterflies with me in the sun,
let's race through the fields and laugh as we run.
Start by believing, then let yourself dream,
romp with dolphins, or chase salmon upstream.
Seeking the miracles Nature offers,
let's hug a tree and ignore the scoffers.
See turquoise waves crested with frothy foam
on silver waters, the color of chrome.
Climb rugged mountains capped in virgin white,
studded with crystals of glistening light.
Let's sniff Spring’s scent, upon a fragrant breeze,
and inhale Winter's breath, where oceans freeze.
Feel the wind dance on grains of shifting sands,
as it sculpts desert dunes in rippling bands.
Let's greet the fog like a ghostly specter,
and spy on honey bees sipping nectar.
Follow me, let's enjoy the gift of birth,
exploring the splendor of planet Earth.
Let's embrace life, leave your worries behind,
and get your priorities realigned.
On tundra that is intent to destroy and defy,
the winds and the ice will attempt to deny
any who are willing to stray across boundaries.
Those who are willing to scale up a mountain,
or leap over the crevice of an alien divide.
She has walked us through valleys without windows or doors where we
learn to escape what we once knew before,
teetering on the ledge of an unexplored world.
She reflects on a land where the mind speaks in tongues,
where gender is one, not clearly defined.
So how does she convince a rational world
to balance its logic on this delusional scale,
while blurring the borders so frozen in time?
Her pen sculpts in waves that can touch the horizon,
with nothing to offer but ice and illusion.
She tells us of friendship, of soul mates
who'll stray across lines,
twining two spirits as if they were one.
Do we believe in the end, where conclusions are sought,
on a kinship so true, there is no simple "who"?
Where lies the truth? Is the left then, the right?
Are there those who will doubt? Are there those who believe? Is it he, is it she?
To cut, paste, define what is love, what is not?
Is dark so dark, or light so light?
Or are the two just as one, as lovers might be?
________________________________________________
2/14/18
Inspired by the contest: "Ursula De Guin"
Sponsored by Debbie Guzzi
Genesis 1:26-27
26 Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals,[a] and over all the creatures that move along the ground.” 27 So God created man in His own image.
-Holy Bible- 21st Century King James Version
Depicting God as an old, bearded man, as if the images created are carved.
Paint on wet plaster when light diffuses, chance of deterioration is halved.
God’s creation of Adam, the very first man, where separation of sexes began.
As if the images created are carved, depicting God as an old, bearded man.
God’s finger to give life to his spirit, an act depicting the start of mankind.
God having made man in his own image, a perfect human form defined.
Adam reclined but their fingers are not quite touching, but very near it.
An act depicting the start of mankind. God’s finger to give life to his spirit.
So adept in creating human form, the artist shows elegance with strength.
In his mural, he sculpts figures with paint, across its breadth and length.
The inspirational sense of power and yet love due to creation is so warm.
The artist shows elegance with strength, so adept in creating human form.
When we look at the mouth of a warrior
We think he never sucked his mother’s breast
The birds that rest on the Iroko
Does not know how the Iroko grew
The heart that persevered in pain
Is the heart that will rejoice with gain
Like the Hibernating hedge hog
Metamorphosing to life after winter
Whales and sharks are not found in shallow waters
The man who swims against the turbulent tides
Of deep shark and whale infested murky waters
Will get the whale oil, make a shark’s fin soup
Or wear a shark’s leather jacket
The resilient hand that never says die
Sculpts stumbling blocks into stepping stones
And squeezes water out of rock
Like a gold stone that passed through a furnace
And became the priceless gold ornament
Separating the men from the boys
The pot that wants cooked food
Must be scorched by the furious and ferocious fire
It is when the palms have been soiled by sand
That the mouth will be soiled by oil
The hand that is not soiled by sand
Makes the mouth to be soiled by sand
People like the mouth soiled by oil
Because it can also soil their mouth with oil
The mouth soiled by oil
Has many names, relatives and friends
But the mouth soiled by sand
Has few name, few relatives and few friends.
It’s all one long poem.
Ephemeral love.
My evanescent queen
Seasonal spirit. Elemental creature
Sculpts creation; As we define dominion
The space has mastered us
Terminable yet eternal
This amaranthine ghost
A dimensional drift. Consciousness shift
Consumption and means to exist
float apart in a universal rift
I destroy families
Tearing apart
every home as I go.