In this swirl of leaves
Of dark bewitchment
Wears them for a cloak, drabber
Common cold blown mopes
A soul, by Death's hand
Bereaved, driven mad.
Windless, do yet catch a wail
Midst the tattered hopes.
Horses galloping
in the barren country
long scorched
by conflagrations.
Carbonised bracken
and naked trees cry
gnarled in bewitchment
of incantations concocted
around smoky cauldrons
broiling with the fury
of serpent fangs
and necrotic poisons
that consume
the golden hour
Heaven's artistry in motion.
benign bewitchment beyond bibble-babble bias
between boisterous besties backed by bandwagon bandits
bamboozled both boldfaced barefooted brothers
Rapt in the familiar fragrance, jasmine rose,
the allure of its passionate quintessence
swirling full circle to its enchanting close.
I smiled, the flower mimicking your essence
presumed itself a suitable contestant
against power of which you are attestant.
Not today, nor lifetime, can flowers compare
to the bewitchment of your hypnotic air.
"our song"
if we chose a song what would it be
a concept to match this love affair
something telling of you and me
embracing kisses here and there
whispers making emotions flow
from the first word to the last
to feel and witness what we hold
leaving no questions asked
for such passions we unfold
sounds reaching desires high
lyrics of eight days a week
a lovely beginning to our story
yet more is hoped for what we seek
capturing a one in a million glory
phrases justifying a wondrous touch
telling silhouettes of loving hands
with kept promises of tenderness
soft as warm silk golden sands
all natural true and effortless
meanings realizing bewitchment
our song is no other than evergreen
defining us and everything in between
SkyWatcher
12-03-23
it is often said, love is blue
a poor anodyne for crushed hearts
pity them dearly that after years
they fail to understand
the mirror holds the cynosure
they truly adore
once miraculous, now commonplace
magic surrendered to logic
fails the child within
the alchemy enclosed is dead
an abandoned playground
even more tragic is the bewitchment
was really never there
the Janus exposed in time
the sad tale of the birth
and transition to decay
those highway markers
where tragedy found a conclusion
when dreams have failed to meld
the off-ramps become the easier pursuit
and as such we humans are
lose or draw begin once more
form new dreams and nurture
the decay within
the reality of the chimera desired
lives where horses are riderless
the beggars have all perished
in a self-induced famine
where the walking dead
polish their romance
OKC 5/22
i am still at times, in shadows
watching you in the world
stealing glances
when the world has drawn you away
there is a beauty i can clearly see
when the picture is devoid of me
meeting for lunch
i step back from the canvas
pause in the servers' din
shelter behind the flora
drink in your essence
holding that moment
my life with you has been as such
like a glass of fine wine
the aging intensifies the allure
oh i know well why
you never let the magic perish
one of my greatest joys
i never had a clue
so i sit back and watch
as her magic unfolds before me
and for all of my sleuthing amidst shadows
i have been bested by a master
that silly smirk she wears so well
adore fails to grasp the fullness
my eyes behold a path
the bewitchment therein
where dwells the beautiful soul she is
poets know these things
OKC 5/22
The phrases “the eyes are the window to the soul” and “I can see it in your eyes” certainly sound poetic. Many singers, songwriters and writers have capitalized on it. But it turns out that the eyes really might be the windows to the soul.
Google the above and you will discover the Science poets knew millennials ago.
With her bright red eyes; yellowish tiny tail-tip,
Pale green wings; greenish yellow-glowing mantle strip;
This golden Oriole has great tales to tell,
Her enchanting feature has great magical spell...
Yellow-orange chest; gray head; silvery slate back,
Bold white pinion poles; pretty eye-strips brownish black;
Large tarsal blotch; scarce and endangered species yet,
If I afford to up-bring, she should be my pet...
Fruits and seeds she eats; sweet nectar and pollen too,
Whether eats flesh or simple herbs - her charm shines through;
Sign of wealth and acceptance; courage and life-skills,
Her advent on courtyards chases away all ills...
Weightless and light, her bewitchment, yet, is grandeur,
The cup-shaped nest she makes is magical wonder;
Her harmoniously mystic songs pull my heart,
Her feature, in itself, is finest of fine art...
11 March 2022
Magical Spell Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
My mouth in passion
so madly
bewitched
seek your mouth
thus desired
random
glimpses of memory
constructs
of another
reality
floating
together
light on landscape
with distortions
of the
chaotic
bewitchment
infuatuation
becoming
a
unity of one
in
the enigmatic
floating
apparitions
The soft wind climbs higher into the air
And stays there swirling around the world,
In a flow that floats through the atmosphere
Watering earth with rain from the clouds.
The soft wind blows upon the tress
Shaking the leaves falling to the ground,
A gathering that comes with constant ease
dropping limp and dead without a sound.
Bright colours turned pale and loitering
Spoiled and sprawling along the paths
Where the beauty of nature is preparing
Another descaling from the remnant left.
A soft wind comes like a friend to pretend
When all is well, in whose lives they dwell
And tries to hide the sting to bring an end
Within the being of a realm deep as hell.
Listless lips brightly blowing fiery kisses
The trail of bewitchment leads to poverty
soft and wet, some faces have near misses
finds truth before mortality makes mockery.
beauty is not the spell of sight;
airy alakazam mars might
la-de-da leases passion prunes
bounty bewitchment urges glued
neither is beauty smeared music;
crumbling crescendos pruning panic
moaning melody, rustic riffs
concerto grosso feelings prick
beauty is all but tampered fate;
generous nature smooth sketch creates,
nor beauty is an apt asset;
blue business - innovation's crest
beauty is a coin of two sides;
seen and unseen - one's got masked might!
'20:06:24:17:33
Note: of bias beauty.
time is not a spell - porous plague:
bounty bewitchment squinching crest,
la-de-da odds fostering surge,
drooling dirge heaving lanky lurch
time ain't perforated portion
ascribed by nocturnal nature:
hankering hectares feigning fields,
swaying swigs, fused figs, sumptuous spree
time outsmarts a tool - meagre mist:
gaunt fashion, gullible mimick,
fleshened forensics, torn tactics
inflected blitzkrieg, damp disc'pline
taunted time is an oxygen
breathe through it or wane without it.
'20:06:10:15:57
Note: of taunted time.
Shall we continue the praise of the moon?
Or of the monk and the nun?
Shall our glottis be lean on the herbs?
Or on the slacken nerves?
Shall our words be drained on mountains?
Or our inks on the beauty of fountains?
Shall our eyes be seduced by the fir trees?
Or by the bewitchment of the daffodils?
Shall the oceans seat on our poetry?
Or the deserts be our sundries?
Shall our loved be penned for our pets?
Or on the beauty of the vets?
Shall our praises ring only in the creatures' ear?
At YHWH's-the creator- expense?.
17:11:25:18:53
The Final Strokes
The many hued sparklers were dappling the almost cindered sky
Turning the sunset from gilded gold to ochery orange.
Michael Angelo's brushes were yet busy with his final strokes
Of separating light and darkness on his beautiful dusky ceiling.
My feasting eyes drifted from the sun's rosy dome
To the soul that wonder'd at the creation of our Creator
'Tis always joy for the sunny eyes ablaze with deliberate bewitchment.
(Earlier-July 8, 2015
Contest: The Answer)
February 27, 2016
Contest:Any Poem#36
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
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