Boldest Poems

In Stars Above

So far away but my heart you shine through.
Stronger, swifter, and wiser, I am better just because of you. 
As the past reigned with the man kings your glow reign in me too.
I'm passionate to be directed by my compass, water, and shoes.

Your nose loud as tunes i can only offer a fife.
From a distance your warmth can rid my soul of evil, damage, and strife.
Like a specific smelling glow you hit the nose like a stife.
The boldest gift to us was Jesus. Son of Man. Son of Life!

Believe in this star because this star still insist. 
It places it's place for you to contribute so don't miss.
Grab hold like a latch in the palms of your fist.
Make a way for the King. The one from Nazareth.

By Accident

Red heart does flips 
I fell in love
No chart for the trips
Heart flies like dove

Imagine candy lips
Appealing like lavender
There’s no written script 
Feeling acting like scavenger 

Want to be boisterous 
Yet I shrink inside
At your joyful touch
And your emerald eyes

Why I’ll go home
And secretly write
Boldest love poem
As if was never shy

I practice my words
Hoping that I’ll remain
Unlike timid bird
When I see you again no shame

That maybe by accident 
Somehow I’ll train my brain
To woo you so smooth so cool
That I win your heart so tame

Maybe by accident possibly 
I find out you really like me
That we are more alike indeed
Than we are different meant to be

The Coolness of Winter

While hearths glow warm with ember’s light,  
I dance beneath the pale moon’s gleam,  
Where frosted breath curls in the night,  
And ice-bound dreams take flight unseen.  

The wind, a whispered song so bold,  
It sings of stars in frozen streams,  
Of silver landscapes, fierce and cold,  
A world untouched by fire’s beams.  

With every step, the crunching snow,  
A voice that speaks to hearts like mine,  
Where solitude and wonders grow,  
And frozen beauty feels divine.  

The Winter Solstice marks my days,  
Its silent magic fills my chest,  
The sacred chill, the moonlit haze,  
This season feels like life’s own crest.  

Though Yule and Christmas warm the soul,  
The coolness calls me evermore,  
To wander where the frost takes hold,  
And where the northern tempests soar.  

No words could cage this love so vast,  
This bond with winter, fierce yet bright,  
A thrill that lingers, unsurpassed,  
Where cold and comfort both unite.  

So let them stay by fireside glow,  
With hands wrapped 'round their steaming cups,  
While I embrace the ice and snow,  
And drink the cold like boldest luck.

Ascension's Dimensions

    Ascension’s intentions shun descension
 
         Extension’s prehension ~

     Boldest dimensions of invention

Bold Strokes

In October, I feel a nip in the air,
that frosts my breath like contrails of smoke;
as gilded leaves start falling from the trees.
Overhead, a gaggle of honking geese
are fleeing Winter's approach; 
joining the songbirds that have migrated south. 
The leaves are painted in thick, bold strokes
of yellow, scarlet, fuchsia, gold and orange;
inked by Jack Frost,
and sprinkled on the ground like confetti.
Amber and vermilion drip from the trees;
pooling into a crunchy sea
of colorful leaves that the wind weaves,
into shifting swirls of abstract art.
One of Nature's boldest paintings,
Autumn steals one's breath away, instilling awe;
infusing Summer's death with Winter's birth,
it is a magical transformation to behold.

Dancing Among Thorns

The secret garden 
with flowers of the wilderness 
shall ignite with vibrance
amongst the weeds.
Soft petals dance with chaos
and I'm the boldest.
Spotlight on me,
a cacophony of laughter,
a splash of colour
against the grey.

I am shattered,
while vigorous,
yet the last one dancing
under a broken sky.
Where my ideas spiral
like rust shaded autumn leaves,
Whirling…Twisting
within the gusts of my mind
struggling against the currents of despair.

I wear my pain like a crown of thorns,
each sting a reminder
of battles fought.
The ripples of my laughter
mask the screams
hiding the shadows,
lurking within
the weight of my illness -
heavy yet so well-known,
A ghost I’ve learnt to dance with.

In this garden,
I shed my layers.
The world recedes and I am myself - 
a girl with tears 
who proclaims delight
and sorrow.
One who waltzes through the madness,
embracing chaos that completes me.

In the crudeness,
I shall find my truth.

The Dance of Dances

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg.

Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Stirring souls, poetry just knows,
Love, fire, boldest winds of desire,
Rains blessing, song without a choir.

Words pouring out soft, gentle prose,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Glistening dreams, love to extremes,
Beckoning from silence that screams.

Dance of dances, fluid verses, 
Poetry that grace coerces,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Poems who don’t just tell but shows.

Rhymes and rhythms, tenderly abide,
Singing of light, sometimes wild-eyed,
Hearts might remain in the shadows,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,

How to save a Royal etiquette explainable when loyal rumination is not

To Royal Prince George and Royal Princess Charlotte

How to save a Royal etiquette explainable when loyal rumination is not?
In a supplicating interlocking prayer
I witnessed so many times , simplicity
Ode to divinity.
After all those are left, one by one
after asking me, "What we may do, for a room-u?"
I remained silent, as God speaks in hands, often.
We, muslims, supplicate with concave hands, and through yearning
Once the interlocking prayers are accepted we all will go "Home"
Even beyond homeland security
MFA class in PM time, that often in competition with God
Godsay and God say are in "issueroom" for a "room-u" reason.
To troubleshoot you need an origin, method and mannerism that piled up, through all these years, as cumulous clouds clutter and declutter, in a poem, "The stranger", or a magnum "The stranger,"
If I see them ever again, back in my life
I will ask a policeman to have a wishful sleep
so that the acro climbs up the royal Tajweed
The Boldest and True.
And so on...
1-19-2024

Spring's Very Core

Take a leisurely stroll in the pine grove.
The time of rejuvenation has begun.
A light drizzle will do, as will a shady cove.
The whole area is revitalized by the sun.

As a string of pearls around a slim neck.
Puddles decorate a tree in the rain.
Soon, the hands of the earth will bedeck.
anything that is visible to you, without pain.

Bestow your awareness forward.
And be in awe of the strength.
Inhale the floor sweet aroma onward.
That lingers after a bath or shower length.

Listen as the ground absorbs the rain.
From deep roots to boldest tips, a joy to gain
Buried life rises and dies on the ground.
Warmth is all nature needs to astound!

Written: May 28, 2023

In Blooming Fields

There flows in the blooming fields of Master, Claude Monet
a tulip river that springs to life with each impassioned stroke
A painting into which butterflies would be tempted to stray
where flowers waft in currents, making oohs and ahs evoke.

A Don Quixotic windmill and an old farmhouse in succession
short strokes of crimson, muted greens and boldest yellow
blended on canvas, the artist's Impressionistic expression.
Landscapes in natural light was the genius of this fellow.

I would snip a fresh bouquet of tulips to adorn a crystal vase
and capture their scent from the canvas for perfumed potpourri.
If I could climb inside a Monet painting, in my arms I'd embrace 
you beside his tulip river and then sip a glass of crisp Chablis.

Untamed Rondine

Untamed we roam throughout the night 
painting that sky just like Van Gogh;
Carving with scratch, hustle, and flow
the boldest black we aren’t polite;
A moonlit chorus we recite 
entrance announced with a bellow 
untamed we roam;
Our tenacity shines so bright
encompassing a nighttime glow;
We set off the stars heel to toe
just begging to get in a fight;
Untamed we roam.

Who Helped You

two lost forlorn basset hounds had their tempers on the ground
they were wet and soggy and soppy and lonely, and it was cold.
two gooders named Sammy and Petey came quickly around.
Sammy the cat was the boldest, maybe it was because he was old.

What’s up? He asked the two dog brothers. How can we help?
He was an old hand at being friendly with species of another kind.
Petey chickadee was silent, for she had just eaten some spoiled kelp.
How could a cat help? Pup asked his brother, for he needed his mind.

We could be open and listen, his bro suggested with affection.
Sammy had a great suggestion and sent them in the right direction.
Who helped you? Their mother asked when they returned home.
A wise cat replied the bassets, digging into a giant ham bone.

Summer Solstice

Cloudless sky, naked shades of azure.
Oh, summer vibrant, resplendent sun,
We thank Lugh for his longest luster,
Grateful for the bounty he gives everyone.

Sun lights awareness in every entity.
Oh, boldest, brightest waking day,
Season of growth, splendor, and fertility.
Abundant Earth is teeming with DNA.

We plant the new seeds in our souls.
Oh, wondrous, endless fire regenerative,
May we sip from love and passion’s bowls.
May we always pause, reflect and be appreciative.

Each summer we must willingly shed our tropes,
And rediscover each other with newfound hopes.

Buddy Was the Youngest and Bravest of Soldiers

Buddy was the youngest and bravest of soldiers,
he left Richmond Hill and his adolescent dreams;
on European battlefields he fought and earned
valor in Argonne and dominated the combat with gallantry:
he was the boldest one, pushing forward and gaining ground,
never bared defeat in front of an assailant enemy!

Buddy was the most brazen of all and tried to hide his tears,
he saw too many bodies fall in the clashing, blasting harbor
and on barren hills: he was undefeatable with a tactic so clever;
he instilled battle trance in each fearful and unwilling soldier:
did those shouts of encouragement earn him ample honor?
He buried many of his comrades without white tombstones!

The Buddy statue stands out for its elegant style
and insightful awareness, and while kids play
around it, they look up in awe and admire
this young hero who wasn't an ordinary doughboy;
I have seen hoards of people stand before it and honor
him for his valiance as he feels sorrow for his comrade... 
gazing down at the small cross that he put on his grave:
Buddy died for an ideal so precious, but fate wasn't fair!
.

Sorry Mom

Most graffiti I have seen
Consists of tags or pictures.
Messages are therefore not
The commonest of fixtures.

Yet today, upon a wall
Not used to spray-paint inking,
Was “Sorry Mom” in boldest red,
Which really got me thinking.

Was it sarcastic or sincere?
Was guilt the motivation?
And would that mother ever see
Her child’s capitulation?

We can’t know what was in the mind 
Of who scrawled out each letter,
But I am sure a phone call
Would convey that thought much better.

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