Best Synchronous Poems
"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go . . . "
ee Cummings
Tender are your ruby lips, my smile has ever kissed
Gentle is your sweet smile (adoration of my lips)
Every breath of my being, a breath of your heartbeats
Steps of my existence (mere walks in your shadows)
My dear, what you’re thinking, my mind always knows.
Cadence of your pulse (a synchronous beat of lyrics)
Love of my life, you’re sound of harmonious music
Inspiration of my verses (you’re the tune of melodies)
Rhythmic are the love-phrases serenading your praises.
Blush of blossoming flowers (in garden of my spring)
And scent of pink-roses on wings of summer-breeze
Blessed are you my angel (in my autumnal dreams)
And snowflakes of my desires in winter’s riant revelries.
In parable of my life (you’re the gift of love story)
In folklore on romance (you’re my mythical fairy)
Soul of my life you are the full moon in my heart
In view of my blazing sky, you’re forever brightest star.
November 4, 2019
Placed 1st: Strand choice contest 6 by Brian Strand
Placed 3rd: Writing Challenge, November- Some Kind of Love
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
orbiting her planet here
in my spacious long distance solitude
this synchronous rotation
only adds to my loneliness
watching her with a
three hundred and sixty five
twenty four seven obsession
peeking around crescents to catch a glimpse
getting attention by rare total momentary eclipse
but occasionally I am fully exposed
to the wonderful sight and beauty of glowing blue hues
there was a time when I was once part of you
you were once part of me
now only a crash course destiny
can bring us together
Foggy mists engulfed the bright
When raindrops fell throughout the night
The lampposts glowed at midnights dark
When sweethearts kissed at Lover's Park
Only starting or just begun
Synchronous melding joined as one
Rhythmic breathing no thought for pause
Merged together, effect and cause
I AM as I AM, free & formless in a domain timeless
In, as & one with & within the sea of Oneness
Dissolved and yet in as ordained, distinct
Pure love awareness in a boundaryless precinct
In, within and in yet as by Oneness ordained
The beingness of love seeking outpouring, now contained
Choicelessly choosing to view Its reflection
In the mirror of duality without any distortion
As so chosen, so began, love benign-ability
Polarity in singularity
Creating sensory movement in duality
Spherical vision confined to timeline linearity
The love absolute
Choicelessly resolute
Now within a living body of perfection
Matter manifest as divine vibration
The pure love outpouring
Within body of lower vibration anchoring
Prismatic refraction of ephemerality bemusing
Anchors of grossness to the vehicle of form alluring
Love then, looking at its reflection
Within in-form consciousness, seeing a contortion
Observes that the transient life of the vehicle of imagination
Within duality, is oblivious of its own divinic origin
Linear time then slowly turns
Hypnotically, inexorably churns
The wheel of illusion
Trapping consciousness in mayic delusion
Love being love, yet outpours its nectar
Dispersing magnetically across all vectors
But duality being the zone so choicelessly chosen
The same free will of consciousness keeps its ascension frozen
Yet love being one and consciousness being porous
In timeless time nodes within form, all being love, sing in chorus
Engage in a rhythmic dance synchronous in timeless being-ness
As of resonation to the vibration of the That Oneness
In, within, in-form & formless stillness
Written: December 29, 2023
___________________________________________
Mahogany motionless shadows
cast by deceitful sun,
a caterwaul unravels,
coeval betrayal
voice beckons glimpses
—of anguish
within the heart loci,
once pure and corpulent,
now rapt by crestfallen darkness,
bereavement blight.
synchronous with aquifers
Interfluve ferri-crete...
desultory.
A love so tender,
akin to a fragile bloom,
now withered and wilted,
lost in the gloom,
a vow is broken
trust shattered in shards
of diaphanous slogans
leaving behind, disconsolate
heartbreak—real misery abounds.
In magenta shadows
cast by a deceitful sun,
whispers of deceit,
waltzed in the wind,
saffron sun rays
masked the spuriousness
in perfidy of truth,
as a venomous snake—slither
exposing whopper &
taradiddle
causing hearts to wither
In depths of darkness,
truth did reside,
unveiling deceit,
where love once thrived,
a web of lies spun
entangling hearts
in a web of
perfidiousness
deviousness
guilefulness
& flimflam
how the heart weeps,
its innocence lost,
It once held love's warmth
betrayal wound is effusive.
A turbulent ocean
of bereavement
overwhelms this heart
eviscerate...
& in egregious pain
no relief in sight
only an aching hole
despite sorrow
mercilessly embraces
a glimpse
of grace and hope,
yet, darkness...
holds strength
empyreal resilience.
And she told him that she would love him
like no other woman ever will.
The accented sensuality to complete his sentences,
was her proclamation.
The Egyptian cotton blanketing her natural breasts,
sliding up his arms
as she wakes him for morning consummation;
epicenter consumption.
She told him that she craves him
beyond physical crux.
He was her equilibrium;
A key to Pandora’s shattered box.
Its fragmented sins,
now synchronous with redemption’s awakening.
Even after all these years…
Yet her heart
was wrapped
by hermetically sealed contention.
…
She told him
that she would love him
more than any other.
More than any other…
…like no other…
More than any other…
As she
strokes the pride
of another.
© Drake J. Eszes
The gym was dim.
Red and white balloons
glittered in the dusk
while flashing lights writhed
on the dark floor
like enchanted water-snakes
gliding through scented fog.
This was a celebration dance!
Eighth grade done at last,
they stepped, hesitant, into the roiling
teen-age sea,their synchronous, bobbing heads
attuned to the be-bop rhythms of the city (not their city),
and the lusty calls of the hood (not their hood).
Smooth gym walls echoed the dj's mechanical angst
endless, relentless beats, the racing heart of the machine,
artificial sighs, nano-seconds long and gigabytes wide.
The boys, spinning on heads and leaping from hands and
flailing legs, showed an athleticism
never seen in PE,
while the girls huddled in their own dark corner
and planned their move;
their fashion walk,
legs strutting ahead
of swaying hips,
heels clicking the hard, dark floor,
as they stalked right up to the foul line
where boys were spinning and leaping
through throbbing lights
to the tribal, primal beat.
So the girls turned,
hips flung in defiance,
and sashayed back to the wall,
staring hard at the gaping boys
over their swaying shoulders.
(28 May 2009)
I itch and wretch behind crystal glass
In chains of my own making
Hiding, waiting for Inspiration
To bail me out of my aching--
Flaming drumbeats of human impact
The dramatic need for fall and change
Call for the gleaming guillotine
The sudden, clean clip... Snip!
I finally then saw after a bloody mess
How it was supposed to be
In nature's recoil, the balancing and shifting
Rebuilding, and then growing ten heads.
I'm only tending, my heart is a drumming
Mere moments of synchronous humming
With no bars to speak of, no other side, and
With no one to the rescue. I sit and stretch.
Deepening Dusk
by Odin Roark
How might this relentless approach of final darkness
present its final moments before curtain?
The acts have been rewarding,
even as the protagonist and antagonist
missed some cues,
made a few false entrances,
and at times confused the audience
of only me.
Thankfully…
My catwalk view
where having long ago embraced
Gordon Craig’s Uber-Marionette concept,
his self-aware-life-enactment
being simultaneously puppet and puppeteer,
prepared me well for the Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations:
“All of us are creatures of a day;
the rememberer and the remembered alike.
The time is at hand when you will have forgotten everything,
And the time is at hand when all will have forgotten you.”
Such is the synchronous epiphany
with a drama’s final curtain
allowing a moment’s pause
before one’s inner-house lights
illumine yet another transition,
from “what if” to “what is” to “what might be”.
Hopefully the staging of one’s mirrored life
becomes companionable for the journey back home,
that place in one’s mind
where comforts remain tenuous
by often reluctant acceptance,
when overcoming challenges
is beyond one’s ability.
Yet…
To prepare for the final unpredictable,
when one’s deepening dusk
no longer finds the stage lit,
when illusion and delusion applaud together
the finished performance of one’s choices,
one’s experiences delineated into one’s
inner-monologue of truth.
“Pass, then, through this little space of time
in harmony with nature and end thy journey in contentment,
just as an olive falls off when it is ripe,
blessing nature who produced it,
and thanking the tree on which it grew.”
Marcus Aurelius
The gym was dim.
Red and white balloons
glittered in the dusk
while flashing lights writhed
on the dark floor
like enchanted water-snakes
gliding through scented fog.
This was a celebration dance!
Eighth grade done at last,
they stepped, hesitant, into the roiling
teen-age sea,their synchronous, bobbing heads
attuned to the be-bop rhythms of the city (not their city),
and the lusty calls of the hood (not their hood).
Smooth gym walls echoed the dj's mechanical angst
endless, relentless beats, the racing heart of the machine,
artificial sighs, nano-seconds long and gigabytes wide.
The boys, spinning on heads and leaping from hands and
flailing legs, showed an athleticism
never seen in PE,
while the girls huddled in their own dark corner
and planned their move;
their fashion walk,
legs strutting ahead
of swaying hips,
heels clicking the hard, dark floor,
as they stalked right up to the foul line
where boys were spinning and leaping
through throbbing lights
to the tribal, primal beat.
So the girls turned,
hips flung in defiance,
and sashayed back to the wall,
staring hard at the gaping boys
over their swaying shoulders.
she hums an endless tune as she lovingly folds his shirt
each crease and fold perfectly placed in synchronous harmony
knowing that ten minutes of work will hide all her effort
Sijo is the classic form of unrhymed poetry in Korea. Sijo have three long lines. Each line varies between 14 and 16 syllables, with the middle line often the longest. The first line states a theme, the second line counters it, and the third line resolves the poem.
Soundscape Strata
Did Bach know to what end
his harvest of melodies-in-parallel would become?
Scholars agonize
Was creation of counterpoint
musical destiny
a hybrid fruit of beauty
knowing no boundary
bewildering those of first look
given musical staffs
voicings and manuscripts
always conformed to traditional confinement?
What spurred his palette of sound
to become one with the elusive rainbow
providing independence through marriage of numbers
allowing prolonged courtship
sanctioning destinies to verge
converge
separate
return to coalesce?
And so
From guitar
to clavichord
string quartets
to symphonies
counterpart airs were discovered
became melodious architecture
challenging new musical frontiers
voiding tundra's boundary rules
reducing history's brass survey monuments
to mere reflections of past memory
Popularization of Bach's invention
soared beyond the artistic elite
for in '55 "Picnic" graced movie screens
initiating the unsuspecting
elevating emotion with layered melodies
Moonglow playing under the love theme
Bach's kaleidascope of synchronous colors
reached the century's romantics
keyed into a music major
minored ala Brubeck
scat-a-tized via Ella and Mel
and
made unity of opposites a given
Thus
From Bach's synthesis of two dimensions
musical ironies evolved
influencing writers' language
line upon line
stanza to stanza
chapter to chapter
making magical
the double entendre
metaphor
subtext
contrapuntal imaginings
all translated into
infinite language-in-progress
With applause knowing nowhere to go
except to acknowledge the roots of prodigy
a high five to the man
who pioneered so much of our soundscape
taught us all the numbers of romance
ironically created attraction to opposites
arpeggios with many colors
intimacy amidst chaos
Encore Mr. Bach
Encore
A wizened little old man hunkered over his bench.
Gnarled hands wielded screwdriver, hammer and wrench.
Hung on the walls of his shop, all types of clocks were arrayed.
He'd been a clock maker for decades - he was master of his trade.
His quaint little shop was set in the Black Forest of Bavaria.
For his horology craft he was renowned in all the area.
Always smoking a pipe, the smoke forming a wreath about his head;
On his cluttered workbench, springs, gears and wheels were spread!
He could repair any old clock in a trice,
And have it back up and running for a reasonable price.
He could make you a fine clock from oak or cherry wood,
That would make you the envy of the neighborhood!
He adjusted pendulums to ensure a synchronous tick and tock.
Grandfather, cuckoo and mantel clocks he made from stock.
He took pride in his guild and his clocks are antiques today,
And in antique stores and museums, you'll find them on display.
To make his clocks he used no fancy lathes or tools,
Nor did he learn his craft in one of those elitist schools.
He dear old Father taught him everything he knew,
Telling him, "Son, be accurate and "timely" in all you do!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
senators seeing stapled starkers
Loopholes. Lanky long. Llama Klamath llama please do not lean on those bent gables. For gables are gargling and gargling sounds very eerily similar to a gaggle of geese. Mission endeavour is a plane in a prism. A pram. Circling. But not a curdled crisp. Boot not a rebooted tooting train. For trains are teams and team is neither a steam locomotive nor a mystified heron on a penny farthing. Part board part hoard and a collapsing crash of hands. Figure a fakery is an idiomatic meaning of a didactic form of unilaterally placed flowers. And the beak says hi. But not before the fire arrives in a bowl of plankton. At noon. In a square. If travelling in a circular ship travel light and only carry one tray, one mug, a beaker, a wheel, and a supernaturally charged frog. Interesting to note how the enhanced forms of wit is involved in intergalactic war games. Playing on a two ton tea towel. Very very heavy. Heavy rock and heavy metal is in a school eating cereal at the back of a classroom. Haha. And the deafening boom of bell brings balls to halls and hallowed singing in a line. Youth yawn yearly. And a little micro dot of a hedgehog plays the bass guitar with a sparrow, a nine foot semi eroded dustbin, a mentally disturbed earwig, a corrupted cucumber, and a non digestible house brick. Wow. Such enlightenment from a factory of frozen peas. Hahaha the wine is in the winds. Hahaha message board secret speaking to a pen. Hahaha number of stolen goods dancing with the police. How apolitical and jar of gold coasting coats. Xxxxx Palladian ponies. Xxxxx geometrical gnome. Xxxxx synchronous swanky swans. X uncharacteristically z z z z z. At 689% of a slice of pear cider. Personified x
‘if I could I would give her
the moon on a spoon …´
in synchronous rotation
orbits speed in compassion
around a union made in heaven
charged in meditation
the Universe expands
stellar love upon a wishing star
knows no infinitum
tantric togetherness weaves
heavenly pleasures
awaits once intergalactic dust
settles in mind body and soul
making love with no end
and no beginning
a daily practice in humility
an afterglow when spoons mingle
scoops up all that matters
no space in between