Best Suspending Poems
I Know of Great Love
I know of great love...
the kind of passion that
surpasses ecstasy into
a world of oblivious bliss
soaring among the clouds
in the ethers of heaven
with a newness that
never grows old or faint.
I savor these golden
treasures within my heart,
within my mind that is
filled with memories of
past and present as I look
forward to our future
moments, suspending us
in love's rapturous arms.
No love song could express
the joy you have given me,
nor the Valentines of
intimacy written by poets
with profound adoration.
Your voice is my love song,
your tender touch, my bliss,
your warmth, my security in
feeling, I know of great love.
You are now and will forever
be my beloved Valentine!
1-23-19
Midnight Valentine Poetry Contest ~N/A~
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
(Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian ~ March 2020)
Where poppies grow in brilliant bursts of red
and bumble bees go searching with intent
she often goes; there sits with dreamy eyes
suspending time, quiescent moments spent.
The wind intrudes on chain of mellow thoughts;
it sifts through youthful zest deprived of guile.
With gaze serene she twirls a lock of hair
as lips betray a fleeting wistful smile.
Though far away, his presence lingers near;
his kiss like sunlight’s warmth on shoulders bare.
It seems to her, he whispers in her ear.
She breathes the fragrance of his tender care.
A sigh escapes her lips as she recalls
his body close to hers in moonlit night.
The promise that he made before goodbye
now makes her quiver with a strange delight.
For she has yet to know the fervent thrill
that overtakes the soul in love's embrace.
On his return, he’ll claim her for his own
but now each nymph of nature wears his face.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
© A Callman collaboration~ March 2020
Where poppies grow in brilliant bursts of red
and bumble bees go searching with intent,
she often goes; there sits with dreamy eyes
suspending time, quiescent moments spent.
The wind intrudes on chain of mellow thoughts;
it sifts through youthful zest deprived of guile.
With gaze serene, she twirls a lock of hair
as lips betray a fleeting wistful smile.
Though far away, his presence lingers near;
his kiss like sunlight’s warmth on shoulders bare.
It seems to her, he whispers in her ear.
She breathes the fragrance of his tender care.
A sigh escapes her lips as she recalls
his body close to hers in moonlit night.
The promise that he made before goodbye
now makes her quiver with a strange delight.
For she has yet to know the fervent thrill
that overtakes the soul in love's embrace.
On his return, he’ll claim her for his own,
but now each nymph of nature wears his face.
A Callman Collaboration
Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.
As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.
Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.
Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.
A Word Collage For Chan Hurst
(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)
Moonflower with white trumpet-shaped bloom
Dewy emerald leaves surround in nights gloom.
Cased in rich soil beneath a quarter moon.
Planted vines loosely knit—by my bedroom they sit.
Sweet fragrance they emit— to incense I submit.
Stunning tropic morning glories amaze
Sunlight and moonlight upon them gaze.
Phantasmic nightlamps in jade landscape haze.
Night’s primrose, moonglow calls—unveiling enthralls.
Dangling shadowy shawls— glistening waterfalls
Flowery white faint lavender tones loom.
Oh sleepy Moon by day lucidly lit,
Behold twilight’s glimmer on garden’s walls:
Gibbous Moon’s gleam suspending in a daze.
Suspending ornaments within an abstracts reasonings....
Paramountic marvels of a phenomenas majestical wonders; these
Perceptions perceived along the paragons trails towards, the swallowing castles
Reflections amid the paradoxes silverish views; hues, of an artificial flavourings
Beliefs upon the impratical balconies foresight of, utopians dreams....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....A Frankensteins theory?!
Note: Smile ~ Was considering the irony of certain things and, the love and light of
All things so, decided to drop a humble crumb into the basket ~ "'Love,' Always," John!:) ~
Form:
Once again the silvery moon has pilfered the golden sun
Total eclipse is upon me, time has elapsed suspending orange
Twilight’s begun on the orb’s descending softer glow
Veiled in twilight…
Placid and limitless, I’ve glimpsed into the frontier in tranquil rapture
Moon aligns sans sun’s bright face
Jolted by twilight…
I coast along a sea of stars juddered wildly
Waves spanning the sky avec abandon
Embraced by star-strewn externals
I leave behind a familiar harbor
Anchored are my temporal remnants down in the terrestrial realm
My spirit soaring, a mirthful lodger I be,
swimming in twilight’s radiance
Its celestial smile shall be the death of me...
embracing star-strewn
crowned external forevers~
we soar the tides dance
And he said unto them, If ye had not plowed with my heifer, ye had not found out my riddle.Judges 14:18b
They plowed with the heifer,
A stranger of a day,
assigned from the pit,
to bring a Samson down.
She feigned false affiance,
with a mission so deliberate,
trans-versing vast territories,
to cage a man by Lust.
the disguise of a demon,
derailed a man on mission,
suspending the vision.
The bargain was too costly,
her comrade the philistines,
pretentious while purloining,
hides in ambuscades,
dictating schemes to kill.
The captives now entrapped,
They kept their walled territories,
inflamed the loose Cyprian,
for fleshy lust and greed.
Are you the man on a mission?
Oh! be not complacent.
The flappers surrounds you still.
Keep this emblem on your chest,
Delilah is not a friend.
There is on a green hill, a winding road,
Where September golden rods are blooming,
Even the sandy path bears reflections
A line of fence posts, lavender shadows
Twining purple morning glory faces
Reaching, desiring the cool autumn sun,
Footprints follow, one little pair, no two
Questions of wonder suspending in air.
Gazing up that lovely road of new fall,
One's eyes strain to peer beyond the path's rise,
Where blue and gold mists meet the autumn sky,
With a new generation, a new school.
And an unremembered Meadow of Dreams
Illumines hidden caverns of the mind.
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
"He can sit in a room, and not perish"*
Or might he stand upon the deck,
release the dove, and weep for years,
not for its loss,
nor for the triumph of its flight
above the waters; they are not of God,
they are the backwash of our fears.
There in his room alone,
imprisoned by his conscience
he may let his mind fly free
while tears beneath his wings
may no more flood the ground.
But we are not alone;
we have the educated man fulfilled...
and weeping. He has not such irony
for comfort.
It is a flood to cling to.
Fears, we understand;
they are our bulwark
when an educated man could speak—
could sweep us all away with wonder,
separate us from such grand pretensions.
We are not free to weep with him.
We may not seek the refuge of the mind,
eyes not for insight, not for closing,
senses bound upon another time
away, another circus of distraction,
yes, another box of little men
to dance upon the screen.
It is a dance to take away our fears,
a dance beguiling death,
suspending it awhile with candied tears
and frosted dreams protecting us from envy,
nodding to the educated man apart,
who sits there in his room alone
and weeping for us,
just as we who may not see
across the arch of his reality,
cannot.
~
*quotation from Jacques Barzun
Incredibly fast and yet so tiny
Dressed in feathers that refract the sunlight
Radiating such colourful beauty
Producing a true birdwatcher's delight
Suspending a living feathery mass
Wings beating at eighty times per second
Create a blur which for a short time lasts
Then in an instant later it is gone
Busily sipping each flower's nectar
As you rapidly flit from bloom to bloom
Viewing you in your glorious splendour
Chases away any feelings of gloom
A true master of acrobatic flight
Forward, backward and even upside down
What a marvellous captivating sight
Leaving the viewer speechless and spellbound
All bedecked in luminescent feathers
Blessed with a spectacular flying mode
Radiating such beautiful colours
That is the magic of the hummingbird
Trinidad, my native island, is also called the “Land of the Hummingbird” because more than sixteen different species of hummingbird have been recorded on the island.
The indigenous Native Americans, the Arawaks, named the island, "Iere", which, in their language, means "Land of the Hummingbird".
Two hummingbirds are shown on the island's coat of arms.
I take a first step after you go.
Then find it hard to move alone.
I walk in every memories where you belong.
But couldn't see the shadow of your soul.
Inside the train or in a bus.
I wish you're sitting beside me.
But in a glimpse, you lost like a wind.
I was left alone suspending my tears.
Thinking of the days we laugh together.
While exchanging kisses 'til we partways.
But those were just part of a dream.
That I still hold until then.
I hope one day, our crossroads will meet.
To hold you once again,
To feel you breathe.
To kiss your nose down to your lips.
To keep you warmth in my embrace.
To burn my soul with your caress.
Today, I'll take the steps all alone.
Holding the hand of your ghost.
Awake, I lay still,
Waiting day, under review.
Tempted to fall back
Asleep, and hold the day at bay.
I rise instead. Time won't wait.
I gather my thoughts
Over coffee freshly brewed.
A strategy formed,
To accomplish what I must.
I move on out. Time won't wait.
At end of day's length,
Assessing successes strong.
Smart to prepare first.
Then to put legs on my plans.
I rest a bit. Time won't wait.
The children come play.
Suspending all that is mine,
About cherished time.
Smiles and laughter reminding,
I choose to love. Time won't wait!
The day has come, a smiling sun shines through bold bars, across the room to the door, ajar, projecting the bars on the door as if it is definitely and eternally closed to go out or come in.
The swirling, smiling haze of the past few days is slowly lifting. The rectangle of the open door has an attractive oblong shape the form of a mouth, telling me I am welcome to enter it - or is it leave? -
The bed has a mind of its own, it owns me, it thinks.... When I try to lift my arm, the bed stops me, stalling me, suspending my arm mid-air, by encircling my bony wrist, encompassing it with an iron grip. My peaceful plea, brought with ever so supportive but strong words that I cannot repeat here, has no result. The opposite is true, it does a sincere attempt to keep me there forever. Turning me into a spreadeagled, reluctant, foul-mouthed lover.
The door decides enough is enough. It squeaks, squirms and squeals, uttering a single, long lived OOOOOOOOoooooooooooo in a deafening ear-shattering pitch....
And in they run, the men in white, with their syringes and multi-coloured pills.
They beam benevolently at me, and then show the bed its rightful place: it's a bed, not a guard!
And shamefully it complies, clips open its claws, groans as I sit upright
Finally, the day begins!
***
May 4, 2017
Copyright © Darren White