Best Seclusion Poems
In blackness,
I hear forked tongues
whisper wicked witchery,
hope within arthritic
ink slowly f a d e s
as darkness descends
upon snow-speckled heart,
and a murder of
crows can be heard~
cawing amidst flamingo fogs
carrying thoughtless art,
over the rolling hills
enveloped with
murky memories…
there I stretch these
breathless fingers~
gingerly reaching
for cashmere curtains,
reflecting
on jaded surfaces
adorned with lost
dreary dreams drenched
in scentless deceit.
But as liquified light of the
milky quartz moon stream,
I ponder, could I be
the one you think of
when stars shimmer
above lunar-kissed lakes~
while cauliflower clouds
drift amidst musical mists?
For I hear my name
in your plum poetry,
serenading love
in magnetic marigold metaphors…
Perhaps, there is no
right rhyme to reminisce~
when every forsaken rhythm,
and broken ballad
is spoken
through unbending
sangria silence.
Yet, tonight I gaze
beyond trembling skies,
hoping that maybe one day,
waning constellations
can see the
crystalline colors
of my tainted truth,
how the glow within
me has been f r o z e n~
left hanging in
swollen syllables of sorrow,
while I await
glorious gifts
of glistening rain to pour…
whimsical wind and
pulverizing waves can feel,
how my soul
thinks in ironic idioms
mourning misplaced musings~
with fickle verses
that phased
this eclipsed canvas
with restless phrases,
fragranced with
forgiving refrains.
I wonder is this
another
dreadful beginning,
or might this be
a blissful ending,
of a thunderstruck
tale that strikes,
from the honey-glazed abyss
of unknown gloaming…
Tomorrow, when twilight twinkles~
orchestrating
ethereal anthems,
in charismatic cadence,
find the silken silhouette of
tear-stained tulips
from my garden of grief~
there they sprout in
cerulean seclusion,
between fleeting feathered lines
of daisy dusk and
daffodil dawn.
Life's circumstantces can overwhelm,
make me forget who I am or where I stand.
At these times, quiet calls me as shelter,
its silence a compelling, healing nectar,
and I disappear from even all I favor.
In a life rush of too much, I often withdraw
from all possible joys as well as quarrels.
As I absorb, I am a raw edged jigsaw,
seclusion pledged until comes my thaw,
for I am lost in the limp task of absorbing
and I am a mute mind and heart exploring.
I never love anyone less than my total
and radiate my love to all like a shiny opal
though I am immobile and non-verbal.
Some pains are too heavy for me to cart
so, I lose my personable shine
and my ability to interact declines.
But I love, yes, I love, my family and friends -
I love them all, with all my love, with no love end.
JOURNAL VI – Tangled
In Seclusion
Looking through
various American Art
Reviews
I find I’m drawn to
the country rustic
scene –
A stream, or lake,
uncluttered
A thatched hut or
neat, plain farm
house (oh not
too neat – a
place to luxuriate
in undisturbed
comfort)
A small boat to
determine,
waterside, the
lake’s
size
And, of course,
delicious greenery,
wild flowers
Some domestic beasts
perhaps -
Though the lake may
be a clear cerulean
My total scene may
be cluttered,
pinched
together,
A veritable super
sundae for the eye
Why this favorite
canvas?
Being city-raised
might be an answer –
though
mine a certain
benign type of
clutter,
That removed from
city turmoil,
By protective trees
and hills, with a
few distant
billowing,
unthreatening clouds
In these last few I
would find a
peaceful
freshness
tangled in seclusion
To renew a fading
spirit
It's the saddest times I seclude myself
I don't want others to see me cry
The hardest times are the loneliest ones
It takes longer for them to pass by
and harder each day to hide it
But I know others won't feel the same
People don't carry the same feelings that I do
Life is often merely a game
Hidden, secluded, delusioned
That everything, in silence, is fine
When the truth is, I have no shoulder
No comfort that I can call mine
strange
forest
mysteries
holds, gnarled bent trees
with dense thorny leaves and fresh water spring
diffusing sunlight into greenish glow
laced with shadows
coiled ivy
writhe the
path
An
ardent
old wiry
witch on a stump
caretaker of the enchanted forest
7/4/2016
Triple Tetractys as: 1, 2, 3, 4, 10, 10, 4, 3, 2, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, and 10.
using http://www.howmanysyllables.com/
Crazy how your number use to be number one on my dial-log to now not being even in appearance at all.
Scrolling down our inundated text messages on my phone, tagged with dates in the past. I realized it is now thoughts redirected, attention drifted, interest shifted, memories faded, feelings dwindled, motivation daunted and all time we spent unaccounted.
We started off pretty well in a chain reaction, clinched together in ignorance of nothing that could crack nor break us. Longed for more moments beyond euphoric description, little were we aware, we were just passionately enamored of this shadow of a dream.
Kissed and snuggled, goofed and laughed, to fought and argued off numerous teases and pleases, even smiled through the pain. Now the tears all washed up in the rain. You were a part of all the things I was about, until the silence crept in and put us apart.
Words soaked up in emotions diluted with fragments of depression, too obscure for the right expression. We were utterly a product of our own insecurities... But amidst all, there was LOVE whose true measure is not the way I feel about you but the way you make me feel about myself... Where is that love now!?!
7.7.17
seclusion of mind
once a thought wonders freely
immobilized state
SECLUSION
observed
patterns
transcribed
in
creativeness
&the
reception
in paradoxes
o
literal
originality
quality
fragmented
with
mandatory
fidelity
inwith
the
existence
to
preserve
a
willingness
undertaken
in
textual
alternate
deviation
The summer men are standing, alone upon a wretched stone,
Contorted, bent and torn. Dressed in paper-like ragged clothing,
The ashes of the universe, they are brother less bone,
Forming declarations from hearts made barren by their loathing.
The winter women, busy themselves by making baby sounds,
Weakened, sad and tired. Wishing for the sun to disappear,
The carers of young flesh, the ones who turn the merry-go-rounds,
Bark at the dark night sky, with a howling that comes from despair.
So soft sands soak seas, and verdant grasses devour the sun!
They are still orphaned by the relentless, apathetic tides,
That kiss and tickle, and dampen any hope or ambition,
Reminding them with the sunset, that within them dread presides.
Most will never take the long and lonely swim to each other.
The gentlemen will never dare ask the kind lady to dance.
The sadness forms like weeds around beautiful flowers dying.
Here they stand, alone, in the season of father and mother.
The fire has gone out, yet some close their eyes and take a chance,
Only to wake in the cold morning to the sound of crying.
Around them, broken sickles warily monument the soil.
The hopeful, but weakened authors draw visions of a new land.
But defeated, they yield, bare-faced and burnt, tormented in toil.
The courageous man will not kiss a smiling lady’s hand,
Finding in sacred seclusion, a world of tranquil weather,
That allows the mind and soul to exhaust themselves together.
This unhappy man in the midst of overflowing opulence living
like a discolored precious stone in a box of rare jewels was always
sad and lonely like a dry wood in a lush green forest, woke up
one morning, more dejected than the morning before, threw
the flower embossed curtains off the crystal clear window and
looked outside to see, maybe for the first time, the scarlet sun
rise in the flaming horizon that painted the fresco of rhythm on
the rippling water of the river, he heard beckoning him amid the
rustle of the dry leaves as the cool morning breeze ruffled them,
and as the colors of the dawn touched his heart softly like the
falling petals of flowers embracing the hard grey ground, a rare
delightful sensation pervasive, he never felt before, and as the
music of the river wrapped his senses the way drifting clouds
serenade in the emptiness of the mute sky, he walked with his
face flooded by sensuous sunshine to the bank of the river
where he saw a sand bar emerging proudly from the water in
the middle of the river and spreading a silvery sloping bed for
a small tree to grow whose outstretched branches were dancing
in the southern wind and the emerald leaves were shining in
sunburst splendor which he thought were the expressions of
happiness and joy that the lone tree could generate as it grew
free in an isolated barren bed of sand bar. All these enticed him
to sail across the coral sea to a distant barren island and like the
tree he let his life take resolute root in desolateness, living to
see the dawns come with pristine colors to cheer and the sea
turning into tapestry of liquid gold in ecstatic sunset hours, but
he couldn’t spread his hands up in the beguiling air the way
the branches of the forlorn tree did in ecstasy, his eyes didn’t
shimmer under sun soaked sapphire sky the way the nascent
leaves of the lonely tree did in happiness, because insular time
had made his mind a barren island.
seclusion accretes
in confines of lonely time…
soul seeks shore of bliss
August 26, 2020
Contest : Let The Pens Flow-Haibun
Sponsor : Jenish Somadas
The air is smoother out amongst the trees
and quickly one can lose the scent of fuel,
arrogance and complicated life; the
rustling leaves as wind so softly swept on
the hills, and hosts of animals and seas
can fill the most exhausted ears of mine.
As slow as crawling, vicous, leering time
I tread so lightly; further, forever
towards the streaks of red and maze, the others
I dare to imagine are past my skill
to write. I walked the way they did, a sign
of loss in forming words the way they spoke.
For all I said and did I stayed as broke
as days of past; but nothing could replace
The woods I stand in now, I feel the dirt
in trembling hands, I dare to look behind
and see a dense and rising cloud of smoke.
Yet i think I hear the rivers ending.
When entire world walks toward sunlight
I decide to stay in moonlight
When whole world cackles
I prefer to keep quiet
They all are doing similar deeds
They all are enjoying the way they proceed
I decided not to do what they do
And let my thoughts to get brew
For there is fun in that
Being different from the rest
Though every one is, in some ways, distinct
And every one thinks like this
Yet they all follow the same track
I am a freak, they might think
But I don’t give a damn
For living a secluded life
And making your own route
Is like having the sweetest fruit
And the prettiest flower
Life is beautiful one you travel on your own path
(~Paghunda)
Water always flows downhill
just as the sun has always risen
in the east only to set in the west
Hearts cry out loud only to be
answered by an echo.
A lady sits alone secluded in her
room tormented by the heartbreaks
of her past in secret she wishes to
be compensated for all the days
she lived in darkness.
Questions freely roam her mind
yet fear prevents her from seeking
answers. Only she knows what came
from multiple heartbreaks and countless
tears that ran from her face.
Never again will she fall, never again
will she trust or allow herself to be
completely consumed by hope. Hope
for the softest touch, the most beloved
kiss along with a virtuous heart.
she wonders will it ever come as
loneliness hovers at her feet.
Prolonging her desperation envying
those who found theirs first. She listens
to the words of those around her.
Who tell her to forget her heart and
enrich her mind being reminded that
there is always time. Yet her heart
will not be ignored nor silenced it knows
that one day her fear will succumb to love.
The bouncing little laugh-beams of your eyes
Quake through your arms and hands
And shake out from your lips right into mine.
Our kissing and caressing, it is one---
With nothing else we know of; it is rare
As---there is nothing else so rare.
Priceless diamonds, blazing city lights,
How common all these are,
And common is the shooting star.
Our love speaks, lives, triumphs, in secret heights;
Only we do know them, and that is great.
We are the selfish masters of our fate.
Seclusion
As in twilight sun rays call off
Enabling darkness to budge step by step,
My shadowed seclusion followed
Your slithering reflections little by little;
Beyond the fetters of time
On mirage of dreams
An alleyway opened wide its arms
And I moved a little
Veil of sobbing breathe,
Taking ocean on shoulders
The whirl-wind blew rebuff
And I receded a little
As in drying leaves
Does green give way
For yellow pigments to foster
On the rumbling sky of desire
Did we draw
Aura of feats so many!
On the anxious branches of curiosity
Did we spring
Flowers of passion so many!
Remaining marks of longings
And terror of void
Still go arm in arm
In my journey
As in confluence of horizon
A little of earth and little sky do