Contest : J With Four Options
Sponsor : Constance La France
Date : August 9, 2025
The unseen glow of omnipresent divine light
floods my possessed essence, but I don’t perceive,
for I invent free-will tenets shaping ego
in the realm of fantasized self-deception.
The stain of murky disdain blemishes my face,
I traverse the slimy ground of cardinal mud.
Life is stifled by corrupt clutch hidden within,
in penitence I feel the spiteful pangs of pain.
I travel unshackled out of despair abyss
on the journey within through consciousness layers,
perceive in the soul the flush of divine beacon,
lighting the corridor to the abode of bliss.
The ill-conceived venture of the errant mind
finds gloomy dead-end in the introspection path.
That’s when the door of the inner sanctum opens,
where the lotus blooms suffused with heavenly sheen.
The soul shines with astral radiance in deep space
with the flaring brilliance of a billion suns.
In my self-searching voyage to eternity
the inner galaxy makes me a living light.
The self-obsessive free-will seemingly dormant,
envelopes the possessed mind with an illusory veil,
obscures the ordained destination God decides,
l need to reach, for I’m subservient of His will.
The unseen glow of the omnipresent light
floods my possessed essence, but I don’t perceive,
for I formulate the free-rule tenets enslaving the ego
in the realm of fantasized self-deception.
The stain of murky disdain blemishes the spirit,
as I traverse the slimy ground of cardinal indulgence.
Life is stifled by the corrupt clutch hidden within,
in penitence I feel the pernicious pangs of pain.
I travel unshackled out of the dark abyss of anguish,
on the inward journey through layers of consciousness,
perceive in the soul the shine of the spiritual crystal,
radiating in the inner sanctum with divine bliss.
Within the deep space of my godly awareness,
my soul sparkles with the brilliance of sacred sapphire.
In my self-searching odyssey at the edge of eternity
the luster of devout acuity turns me into a living gem.
Only when my costume’s
Been hissed at with steel
Do my garments ripple in small, stormless waves.
Only when my mask
Has been greased in pale mud
Do my blemishes blend with the sea of my face.
Only when my hair’s
Met a shower of glue
Does it cow to the waves that my fingers might make.
Only when my prop
Has been sharpened in stone
Does it shimmer like sun-shatter left in a wake.
Why preparation
To such a degree
When an extra’s the part you’re most likely to play?
True, when you’re starring,
I’m off to the side,
Doing my best to stay out of your way.
But I have a stage,
As do you, in the mind,
Somewhere my name’s at the top of the bill.
There, I’m flood-soaked
And pregnant with lines
And you’re in the dark standing perfectly still.
Oh, noble strangers,
Who pass through my life,
Storied and nameless, busy and kind.
There in the passing,
Your extra I’ll be,
And in my performance, maybe you can be mine.
I accept you for what you are, what you’re not and who you’ll become . I want to know your thoughts so we can ponder collectively. I want to feel the warmth from your embracement giving me comfort and security. I want you to seek refuge and shelter within me. I want my name to loop in your mind just like yours does to mine . I want to mean something to you. Not the remnants you discard when you’re satisfied. the days you choose to ignore. the neglected sun you loathe when you sense the heat yet you crave for it during torrential downpour. Futile is what I am . I cant be the sun on a rainy day neither the moon on a somber night . I want you to yearn for me only then will I unveil my facade of insouciance and portray vulnerability. I’ll wait for you to say the words because saying it myself will only paint my canvas as the jest but when you speak it sounds ever so pure and cathartic I almost regard it . Till then I’ll observe you closely paying attention to even the smallest of freckles or blemishes hoping that one day you’ll choose me.
He asked, in Gethsemane, if there's another way
If sin can be recompensed without His blood to pay
But silence answered as He prayed
The world held its tongue, as if to say
"There is no other way."
The narrow road that stretched ahead
Was paved by the ugly sting of death
That drew His blood at every tread
And thorns of sin, and guilt, and dread
He took it all upon His head
We all have blemishes we try to hide
Cruel vices that cannot be justified
A hurtful thought, or word, or deed
Virtues stained by pride and greed
These, all of us must guilty plead
But Justice calls to lay by His side
Redeemed by the blood of the crucified
He bore our shame to give us grace
And crown us victors of the race
Now I can’t help but stand amazed
He’s filled my heart, full of His praise
Who are we? Are we part of God? Is the hurt we feel reflective of His? Where is the greater good? Is it in
Politics? In commetce? In faith? Maybe your god is
Just a one dimensional aspect you observe? Maybe
I do this also? Its difficult to see any blemishes with
No mirror report.' First judge ones own motives by the
Bible must be my first resort.'
Still Holding My Own Poetry Contest
Margarita Lillico's
Sally's basin is broken and shattered
But her plumbing works is all that mattered
It was all a one-night sink
Tap in and out in a blink
Her men took finding joy in what splattered
Loving you like the wind, blowing
Through my mind like a melody
The tune mesmerizing like that of hues
Too the rays shine without calamity
My precious mind thoughts lingering
I see a ponder over thus thee reality
Picking up posies - smelling the roses
It's in the air - I too then breathe
Creativity
Puts a damper on a soul indeed
When you are full of broken promises
I adored what we had it flattered me
I am infatuated but it too blemishes
Waking each dew morn - I drink the water
My mind breathing in and clear inside
Dreams often shatter upon awake
My arms I seek for opportunity of wide
The hues of the rays yes mesmerized me Melodies created to the beat of the cleft
Picking up the posies - smelling the roses
Is exactly only that, that I have left.
//
wings,
wings,
wings,
An ongoing black screen,
A blandest morning, ,
,abundunt ///////////blunt & burnt
DAMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
inadequate
, looping And/////////////ripping , In a room, twenty floors up, thriving,
_ to let me in, in a
doll _incorrect mannequins insolvent
remainders
I am a boom, a bloom Buddha, a
simpleton you know , frantic and pretty much done
our manners_____________________
, onto into upto will do somehoww
of too why to anyhoww hey, hey, hey
Clarity, clear of blemishes,
mannequins !!!!!
yes please
the numbness of seasons ,
a blues like you, half , half , a job, Near to sea, is scary
as it can b
wings,
wings,
wings,
A clean facial slate
no blemishes to be hid
a beautiful face
Stolen from Persian shores,
whilst warm within my cocoon,
all that remains is saltwater memories,
where sorrows flow in slow motion
through drops - invisible, but glowing.
Eyes gaze in awe,
but am I as elegant as I appear?
I am bare, full, but hollow,
forever on display,
but unseen in darkness.
Bricks are identical like pearls,
easily strung together,
but pointless on their own.
Collecting dust upon dry land,
I can hear whispers of timeworn blemishes
from waves calling me home.
The ancestral savannahs of my people
Are still alive in the unseen horizons
Our grandparents have told us many
Wonderful things about our tribe
Before they arrived, we were here
On the banks of the rivers and streams
We stood and saw their ships
North, south, East and West
Your blood flows in my veins; Only we
Can irrigate the fields without profits
The sick mentality of favour doing
Need to be hang or put in the electric chair
We are not anyone boys or lessers
Our ancestors were kings, queens, and nobles
There was so much to eat and drink
The blood of our sweat, the sweat of our labor
Elements of stability; Rise Up Africans
Like a corpse, bury the weight of opprobrium
No more trembling, red blemishes
Shine in the middle; go nowhere
Africans, wise, and strong
Young and old; be a stimulating tree
Be part of the newfound springing up Africa
Amid the pale and faded flowers, we rise
Deliberately, and earnestly, we rise
With Habakkuk Kargbo (Rabbi)
©Poem Makers SL (18/04/24)
By now my perception,
so naive and derisive
going beyond intention,
should have changed;
blemishes spoil this appearance,
they are worse than any word said
to hurt and humiliate with vengeance:
sling no stones, no threats to shield!
I got through many hurdles,
they posed hard challenges...
and struggling with life I can say,
" I'm prouder than anybody. "
What held me back was constant fear:
how painful was to see all disappear!
I looked up and saw the grayest clouds,
soon it would be raining for eternal, dreary hours;
much sadness they brought with their darkness:
I couldn't find shelter into anybody's arms!
Struggling with life is wrestling with God,
it's the hardest fight ever fought;
nobody wins and we surely resent defeat:
we blame fate and cry out loud...
not appreciating what we have freely received,
and shunning what's good, we embrace deceit!
When feeling empty
I often write --
strange, how, somehow
emptying more seems
start a fill --
from the outside
re-connecting the within --
where I draw from
reserve – ours I like
to believe a dimension
of shared admissions
becoming childlike
opening to acceptance
the need for mirrors:
as well as for makeup,
more-so, for busting pimples
and cleaning teeth~
our blemishes, bits and pieces of
one another
we see our digestions
in the images of others
what we eat, breathe,
dream, and pray -- both
inner and outer garments
reflections...
Why would I - the maker of this:
desiccated and barren effigy,
the devastated architect of this
biological monstrosity -
want to end the great work?
I ask you dear friend, why would I not?
Why linger when nothing remains:
nothing but broken bricks,
shattered glass in twisted wood;
all the hopes and dreams unspent,
gnarled by time, left irredeamable
by decisions past, my legacy.
For the canvas can take no more paint,
can take no more congealing
of beautiful youthful strokes.
The shuddering structure cracks -
each repairing touch only blemishes;
it’s beauty is lost forever.”
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