Best Simon Poems
Line of Inquiry:
“We look at spirit not at form
Our touch is gentle, kind and warm
We but reflect God’s love and light
‘Tis the path to which we conform”
Serenity of Spirit is to be invited inside,
not captured and held.
Its movements unfettered and as free
as waves crashing over the sea.
I touch them as they rush to shore,
uncontained, refusing to be restrained
like the sacred stirrings of a silent spirit.
God's light reflects across open waters.
Of its inspiring ebb and flow, I am aware
that He is everywhere... in ocean swells,
dwelling in depths of cerulean Chakra
I feel the bliss of fernweh* inside me
That distant place I cannot see
but exists at the end of the path I follow
once awakened from doubt,
where God's light and love await me.
Words are unspoken during meditation
offering adoration and solemn appeal.
It's tantamount truth I seek...
sincere belief, devotedly divined
not of the body, but in spirit and mind.
Intoxicating, the righteous realization
that God's light glows within me
with calmness when spirit is inhaled,
carrying with it the elegant essence
of a pious paradise; an Elysium Eden.
In a komorebi** moment, shadows fled
when revealed was God's grace,
His radiant presence,
and in the palpable peace I felt
my soul was filled with reverence.
My heart needed spiritual healing...
a transformation I eagerly accepted
when he planted wisdom seeds in me.
*fernwey - yearning for a distant place
**komorebi - embodies a sense of tranquility
My little town is surrounded with green.
The sound of silence shines through the trees' windows.
Our grass grows higher than a trampoline.
Moss patterns bring laughter between streets' shadows.
The sound of silence shines through the trees' windows.
A most peculiar man stops to listen.
Moss patterns bring laughter between streets' shadows.
Smiling silently, his green eyes glisten.
A most peculiar man stops to listen
to voices of old peoples' fresh perspective.
Smiling silently, his green eyes glisten
because the leaves that are green are reflective
to voices of old peoples' fresh perspective.
If I am a rock, then I am a jade
because the leaves that are green are reflective.
A great effect is kept secret in shade.
If I am a rock then I am a jade.
Our grass grows higher than a trampoline.
A greater effect is kept secret in shade.
My little town is surrounded with green.
Written 4-13-18
10, 11 syllable pattern
Songs by Simon And Garfunkel:
My Little Town
The Sound of Silence
Patterns
A Most Peculiar Man
Voices Of Old People
The Leaves That Are Green
I Am A Rock
A Great Effect
Imagine head capped with currents of bliss,
enabled by God’s magnetism at play,
ushering rapture where nothing’s amiss,
renewing itself thus, day after day.
In the vast, vibrant void, soul makes its stand,
discarding every conditioned belief,
free from fear fetters that we understand,
silence alone lets us turn a new leaf.
Soma nectar drips, our attention grips,
that the bubble of delusion may burst
and as refrain of bliss plays on our lips,
becoming the flame itself, ends heart’s thirst.
Oh worthy monk, as we be to become,
within us glows light of the central sun.
“We look at spirit not at form
Our touch is gentle, kind and warm
We but reflect God’s love and light
‘Tis the path to which we conform” ~ Unseeking Seeker
I read the violet sparks
of untouchable lightning,
allowing the butterfly breeze
to wrap me in wet bliss,
tracing the afterglow
of compassionate consciousness,
where kindness has no motive,
where empathy holds the quill
to narrate and nurture
nature with nameless frequency,
like a tercet without a title ~
a sunset without an end,
woven with wild petals of wisdom,
for what is love without light,
what is wisdom without composure,
what is humanity without
healing hymns of the soul?
In silence, I feel your pulse,
the palpitation of profound passion,
the vibration of untamable truth,
and I remain ~ immersed in awe,
adrift in the amplitude
of absolute awareness,
of what breathes between
rising fire and water,
like an estuary that escapes
the evilness of angst
by holding the ripples of rivers
and streaming sapphires
of salt-kissed serenity…
But must I name the throb
that aches with the weight of peace?
There is no form, no label,
no letter, no ink,
no colour, no cadence
to spell what spills
from the spirit of starlight ~
when love resides on the chalice
of the third eye,
intuitively engrossed
in the essence of clarity,
unclothing the chakras
to reveal the pining purity
of faith beyond form,
as the Almighty synchronizes
the inner motif of mindfulness,
merging the mystery
of surrendered sacredness,
where ego has no home,
and manipulative monsoons
cannot erase the awakened
flame of blazing dawn…
O beloved soul searcher
seeking timeless tranquility
in sunflower stillness,
listen to the unspoken ~
you and I, we know
the scented skin
of roses and revelation,
the kingdom of unseen reality,
guarded with illuminated epiphanies,
and in muteness we muse,
transforming to an ethereal realm
where heaven is closer
than the air that touches
the holy shivers of electric scriptures,
written from the lotus aura
of an ageless utopia ~
forgive my need
for cosmic confinement,
‘Tis the path to which we conform...
"You Wanna Play!!!"
Deep into the forest
I found a wooden doll
Porcelain eyes, creeping from behind
Like TV, the music haunted every step
Falling into a paralyzed state
The moonlight darkened before my eyes
The bitter taste of sulfur covered the scene
My heart pumped itself to sleep
Pure evil waltzes around the frigid floor
My body of stone Claimed by a sudden voice
"Get Up! Get Up, before I devour your soul"
The same wooden doll, dark porcelain eyes
Now speaks, his claws bracket around my neck
"Get up, Simon wants to play with you!"
In a sick demonic way, I woke with my lips are sewn shut,
Silent, but alive!
Simon sang a song
"Simon wants to play, Simon wants to play! "
"Simon Says, do as I ask or else endure pure evil"
I wanted to jump to my feet
But, I felt frail and powerless
"Simon Says, beg for Life"
I kneel, pleading with my hands
For he knows I'm mute
"Simon Says, yell a little louder."
He can't hear my screams
Simon bites right into my mind
My eyes began to brim with tears
He dances pushing tangible fear
Simon then speaks,
"Simon Says, to stand on one foot."
Blood slowly slips as I stood on one foot
"Simon Says, get on the floor, slither like a snake
I slithered for a few seconds, then I stopped!
"Simon did not say to stop!" he mumbled
Snatching what remains of my heartbeat
Simon laughs, while he screams,
loosen the thread around my lips.
Simon then pulls a dagger from his little vest
A slash at my ankle - I fell
"Simon then says, get up!"
By this time, my adrenaline kicks in
This wooden doll, dark porcelain eyes
No longer scares, I slam Simon against the tree
"But, Simon Didn't Say."
Finally, I broke free from the insanity of imagination.
Taking control of Simon's game
Simon looked at me with a sad face "Saying"
"Simon doesn't want to play with you anymore."
BY: PD
You entered my life when yours seemed grim,
affected lonesome heart on a chancy whim.
Weak and sick, you fought to justly live,
knowing indeed, you had loads of loyalty to give.
Wiry - thick- gray mane crowned your debonair grace,
accenting strength and slenderness to your youthful face.
Fourteen years you honored our humble abode,
strutting whole backyard, showing off what you owned.
Age griped your lean physique, riddled your body and soul,
deep down inside, I knew it was your moment to go.
One night you slipped away in the moon-less dark,
took my love - my first feline - but left your mark.
My sweet Simon - my Sam Bo, appeared by either name,
when you adorned my home, my life has not been the same…
Copyright © 2016 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "I Love My Pets” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Feb. 18, 2016
1/20/16
(Part One) The first few hours.
I was just a ordinary man
caught up in the unruly throng,
The mob jeering and ranting
insults on the road along,
I pushed and shoved my way
through all the furore
to see what all the fuss and melee
was all about at the fore.
My heart shrunk as I eyed
in total dismay that ghastly sight,
From what befell my eyes, that Friday morn
befouling that dawning day with blight,
Was a Man sparsely clad, and bloodied soiled,
And about fifteen and a half hands tall,
His nut brown shoulder length hair
now caked and matted in disarray.
The way His hair and beard
was parted in the middle down
i knew that Man then
was belonging to the Nazarene Sect,
And brutally entwined upon His head
was a brambled thorny crown,
What more torturous and bestial
torment can a naked body be subject,
His body oozed and dripped sweat
all mixed with blood and grime,
And even more the gruesome
was the criss-cross lashes mark,
So visible, as He staggered along
on that arduous path that morning time,
Dragging a fifteen cubit long sycamore
torture-stake on His shoulder, bared stark.
His back bent and racked in obvious pain
bearing that one and a half hand in diameter log,
Then when, He stumbled in His stride
and before the Roman Centurion Him wanted to flog,
For that Man's wretched agony
and pain, I no longer could bear to stand,
Then in haste that Man to help
I shed my outer garments and tossed it to another man,
I stayed the Centurion's hand
and hoisted that stake upon my own broad back,
For I was Simon an Grecian man from Cyrene
and favoured arduous labourous toil,
When that frail worn-out Man turned
with blue-grey eyes and looked at me,
I saw in that look, relief and gratitude
then I knew, I did just right,
He sadly smiled as He said these words to me,
"Do you too now drink from this bitter cup?",
And added, "You shall indeed sip
its rim with Me to the end of time",
I knew Him then no ordinary, man could be
His voice so gentle and mild,
And I truly then wandered who this Man could be?
to suffer so cruelly, in the hands of man,
When He lightly placed His hand
upon my shoulder, I felt the load lightened,
as if I walked with a feather
on my back, and not His gruesome burden no more,
As we together trudged, on that path
that road, to Calvaria, that place of death,
I then knew that Man at my side
Was a Holy-man by His touch alone.
(Part3) Home, The Realization and Blessing,Finally.
Here where I reside in Cyrene in the country
of Cyrenaica later to be known as Libya, now in Africa
so far has the news hailed, to cheer me on,
For that Holy-man of Judaea never died
my days henceforth shone bright above for me,
They said too that He truly was a King
a Son from the Davidic Royal line,
A King without an earthly throne to sit upon.
But for me that Holy-man will forever be
A Prophet on High, a Son of God
so much more than, a mere earthly king,
And all this I say without a doubt in mind
for I was there, I felt His touch
I heard His words, I saw the look in His eyes
because of Him I tread this earth
so much the lighter now.
Now at the close of day and at my hearth
bathing in the warmth of the fires glow,
My thoughts are more and more upon
that Man of God, that man Jesus
whom I helped that awful day,
And I wander if He knows He has helped me more
than He will ever know for now I feel so
much closer and grateful to my God.
To my God whom I Worship every day
even more so, now that I have met His Son
His Son, who so has suffered, the the hand's of sinful man,
He suffered shame and degradation
all to redeem Men, all to show Man the Resurrectional Way,
All for Man's sake and for that day, I am so truly blessed,
And His words to me "You too will sip this cup
with Me unto the end of time", those words now seared into my soul.
Simon´s Sonnet. .
Simon is full of glissandi and spondee today
and writes poetry for the literati; that is ok,
it is good to know wonderful words.
I sit on the terrace facing east, a sparrow
has a nest nearby, it sits on the phone line
shrieks without the slightest hint of glissandi,
want me to go away sees me a threat to its eggs.
It never learns saw it last year when it was
protesting my presence. But in the end it realized
I was not a risk and took to sing with much
spondees, impressing it mate.
But Simon is right if we go on ending the habitat
for song birds, we leave crickets to annoy musical
ears, when heralding spring.
by saint schack or saint creep
Golly Gee, shoot I'm mad
Golly Gee shoot I'm mad.
I feel sad
I fell sad
I try I try
I cry I cry
Why?Why?Why?
C'mon guys
C'mon guys
Dang Dang de doodly. How screwy.
Dang Dang de doodly. How screwy.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Damn that Dan.
Damn that Dan.
I wish I may. I wish might.
I wish I may. I wish might.
Oh well, Oh well.
Gee guys this isn't too swell.
Ah hell! Ah hell!
I guess it's just as well.
quatrains with palindrome and onomatopœia
I thought I saw a puddy tat. Was it a cat I saw?
We got one of those curtain things so Simon Dog can come
and go without our bother, when we are busy at home.
Quick-quick, click-click, stick-stick, the neighbor cat watches in awe.
I thought I saw a pretty hat. Was it a hat I saw?
Simon Dog has chased after things since he was just a pup
And though he's seventy in people years, he still jumps up
announcing, bouncing, pouncing all his trophies with his paws.
I thought I saw a piper's rat. Was it a rat I saw?
Lately, Simon doesn't seem as hungry as he's used to
I guess it could be his old age, or maybe stomach flu?
Quick-quick, click-click, stick-stick, the magnets keep that curtain taut.
I thought I saw a spotted bat. Was it a bat I saw?
Simon's not the only one attracted to this curtain.
Diversion and delight offer exercise it's certain -
bouncing, pouncing, announcing a treasure he's not yet caught.
written 5 March 2016
Simon used to take part in motocross,
Before his bike stalled once mid-air,
When he was training on his farm land,
Which left him paralysed waist down.
He was born in 1982 on the 7th June,
And having fought back from that day,
In 2001 when he did dance with death,
He now races the Marathon T52/53/54.
He most often competes alongside Weir,
But worries about safety combinations,
Because safety issues can concern him,
And the Zika virus was a scare, quite big.
He lives in Maryport but trains in Carlisle,
At the Sheepmount Stadium to neatly chat,
With olympians Tom Farrell and Nick Miller,
Who he knows to be top athletes, class.
Dr Ian Thompson, Tanni Grey’s hubby,
Who trained this fantastic legendary idol,
Also trains Simon by propelling, pushing,
Him to muscle on further and further.
In 2015 he did brave to firmly complete,
The Great North Run, the half marathon,
When he won the silver in the T53 class,
And he works as a car mechanic by day.
Simon has been gone a long time
Does he think we are playing hide and seek
I remember him saying 20 minutes ago
He was going to take a leak.
I open up the bathroom door
I can't believe what I see
Simon sitting on the bathroom floor
His trousers around his knee's.
His head bowed over the toilet rim
Shouting Hughey into the bowl
Are you ok , I ask of him
but he's busy retching up his soul.
It must have been a virus
Ha , That's a likely tale
I don't suppose it has a lot to do
With downing 8 pints of Yorkshire ale.
The world is spinning round mate
He begged me to leave him on his own
Would I call his missus
So she could drive him home .
I heard him say '' I effing love you''
You're beautiful you are
Then I heard her snap You drunken prat
Get in the effing car .
I would hate to be in his shoes
This morning when he wakes
Last night his wife looked so angry
I felt the earth around her shake.
She won't ground him forever
Even henpecked husbands don't get that fate
and in the pub next Friday
He'll have to face his mates.
Adorning the walls at Brigham and Women's
Head on his hand quite comfortably resting
The subject distinctive in his smiling position
Inspires the asking who is this physician
Over his shoulder an old time sea captain
And over the other what looks like the Kremlin
A scene that recalls something seemingly Russian
What is its significance in this bastion of medicine
And so the commencement of careful researching
Reveals the story of which we'll be learning
A Harvard professor with numerous contributions
To the field of anesthesia including ischemia-reperfusion
This skillful practitioner of inducing unconsciousness
Was born in the Soviet Union in Nineteen and Thirty-Six
The whitebearded mariner is his belov'd Granddad
Who perished unaccounted for in the blockade of Leningrad
When Simon was young he was frequently hungry
Simochka said Mamma for food do not ask me
Life as a Jew in the society of Stalin
Was hard but instructive for the mensch now ascending
At that time in Russia was no concept of charity
Because the state cared for everyone and no one was needy
But the pogroms and politics couldn't kill his generosity
And as soon as they could his wife and he left their country
Emigration to Israel where he learned to be Jewish
In the sense of the word that's proclaimed and not whispered
And he saw for the first time a community helping
And he knew gum zu l'tovah was how he'd be living
And many years later ensconced at the Brigham
The giver, the teacher, the lover of freedom
Fortunate I who discovered his portrait
And learned the legacy of the man
Simon started playing wheelchair basketball,
Aged twelve at a school community project,
And under coach Ian Laker accepted the call,
To play with London Titans so as to connect.
In 2008 he debuted at the Beijing Paralympics,
He and the GBR squad won the bronze medal,
And in 2009 they won with World Cup phonetics,
5th in the 2010 World Cup Championship pedal.
In 2013 at the Frankfurt European Champs,
Simon and his GBR team struck the top gold,
And then in 2015 at more European Champs,
Simon & co won yet another sparkling gold.
In Rio de Janeiro at the Paralympic Games,
The GBR basketball squad collected bronze,
A triumph for such an elite contest, no games,
Where the best is given by first class scions.