I Celebration in the Year 2000
Cultures combine with cornucopia chalices
Spinning with starry spices steaming dreams
All together with pollination of feather flowers
Flowing with global glowing hope harvests
We capture watercolor waterfalls words
From freedom chests echoing expressions
With experiences exalting joyful gemstones
Teaching circulation of time's dancing chapters
We interlock internally with orchestra grace
Where world's writers inscribe soul scrolls
II Desolation in the Year 2001
Insane airplanes fire and flame wanton wars
From unknown blistering hate death's fate
Buildings burn with smoky skeletons
Tomb's teeth bleed scythe seeds upon
aghast eyesight halting worldwide scarred souls
Ghosts of time's crimson crimes question peace
From horror history halls that crumble with calls
Ringing culture's forever communication chairs
Within time's decorative trusting chambers only
exist with sweating escorts to eagle engine exits
(A Poetic Prophecy)
He walked not with crowds, but with silence.
A hush clung to his steps like a prayer.
The wine of the world he did not drink—
He stored his storms in chalices of fire.
The daughters of dust followed him not for touch,
But for something they could not name—
The way the stars bowed when he passed,
The way his shadow did not crawl.
He wore no crown, yet kings feared his glance.
He spoke no miracles, yet time obeyed his breath.
He bore a flame—hidden, ancient, clean—
Unlit by lust, unfed by want.
His hands had never struck,
Yet his presence broke empires.
His eyes were not soft,
Yet the broken found shelter there.
They asked him, “What god do you serve?”
He answered, “The one within,
Whose temple I guard with fasting flame
And unbroken bread.”
And still the women wept when he passed—
Not for his beauty, but for their own mirrors.
He showed them the hunger they fed in vain,
And the feast they had never tasted.
He was a man.
But more than man—
A keeper of thrones unseen.
The lion in winter.
The sword that sleeps.
If tormented truth is
the taste of her fire,
injecting her blood
with poisoned rain
in golden chalices,
what is the color of
eclipsed spheres
where there’s a
desolated darkness
that dwells through
devious spirits
to rise higher?
Maybe there’s no
heaven nor hell in
the onyx fields of
soulless stars,
where obsidian roses
bloom as signs of
the devil’s immortality,
crooning doomed
hymns to the
honeycomb hues
of raven's irises,
which reflect every
bitter dream painted
in strokes of thunder.
But when dusk
bleeds seas of deception,
sins stream through
sinister shadows,
slowly pulling innocence
to a chamber of pitiless
pins and heinous knives.
So watch her ascend
as the metaphorical mistress
of death and beyond,
she is no longer your
heretic queen
that serves you light,
that once breathed
and walked through
storms of toxic typhoons
cloaked in
summer serenades,
taming every hurricane
with her crystal wings
that never tethered
to an evil king of serpents.
yarrow jamboree is five syllables
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Summer Jamboree
summer jubilee
carnival spun in saffron ~
long lemonade days
fields of sunflowers
glow like golden ocean waves ~
summer fiesta
black-eyed susans spread
into arid wilderness ~
highway troubadours
drops of sunlight in
meadows of dandelions ~
festivals of gold
butterscotch daisies
shout sunny salutations ~
topaz tapestries
yellow shooting stars
twilight columbine galas ~
lupine lemon drops
valley vistas glow
like chalices of sunshine ~
yarrow jamborees
Falling in & out of night
flying in & out of ribbons, threads of creation
that fall upon all the eternal emerald seas
Golden lands stretching out before me,
I touch it delicately, softly is the sound of Grace
feeling the gold, setting Sun, a coming of twilight
Silence before the oncoming storm
the ozone
the rain
catching the holy light of a silvery moon,
in carved chalices of ruined blackened stone
rises bright, its ghosts dapple n plays
intricately upon the puddles of passing rain,
feeling in the coming of knight
falling in and out of light,
falling in and out of the silver rays of moonrise,
the grace, eternal, silver planes
the land vast and asleep
I have decreed all I feel as it stretches out before me.
I touch it softly feeling the vibrations of Grace…
As light falls in and out of night
Drifting through these pale fingers…
Aren't we all sinners in the eyes of the world
And aren't we all lost in this very world
For we always seeking approval from each other
From people who most times don't understand at all
For we all have cups over flowing
Some cups pouring out pure pain
Cause their cups were chalices of poison
Hate is all they've known in this life
Some have cups over flowing like rain
That when it pours from their cups
It drops in ours watering our wells
With hope to always keep going
Aren't we all sinners in the eyes of the world
Then why the attitude & constant righteousness
The sheer pettiness and imminent divide
Between ourselves when we out there in the world
Aren't we all sinners in the eyes of the world
And haven't you all had enough of it
Enough of the constant comparison,
and unnecessary pressure to perform
For we were all made different
Drinking from different cups of life
While some got empty cups that they sort to beg
Others got cups that fill whole grain sacks
The PO£T
It's not physical cold,
Nor the hunger, bold;
It's lack of human dignity,
And their psychic malignity;
Turns chalices of our nights,
Wilder than wild-beast bites...
21 January 2022
Bite Size Poems no33 Poetry Contest
Enter Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Waking, like birds, walking, running, rushing, pushing,
Working, like horse or donkey; earning day's living;
Colleagues, friends, even foes; a little bit of name,
If I move stones unmoved, I might get some scant fame;
Where will wheels of existence move beyond this rut?
What's the meaning, purpose, goal - beyond this shut-hut?
Chalices of trifles of troubles, turmoil, loses,
Physical psychic head-heart stress that imposes;
Conflicts, disputes, cock-hen like, dog-barks-like disputes,
Mindless grins, scrupulous remarks which have no roots;
Those smiles; guileless laughs; malice-less naughty nix-moves,
Intertwined like thread of nucleus, same truth proves...!
Anxieties, hurts and pains, like broken wings, flap,
These, like dragnets or hunters-holes do our strength trap;
Choosing spiritual paths that boldly hold God,
Senses, inner mind, and third vision in concord;
Rivulet of Ganges, that in subtle routes flows,
Should reach the sea of endless ages, with entire glow...!
19 January 2022,
When I was with my love
I did not fear the blows of fate,
nor the poison in time's chalices,
nor the heatwave,
nor the snowstorm,
neither the news of war's snake that bites,
when I was with my love.
I could reduce war to the sound of the drums,
be brave without any vice, and torture that
lies in the wait, like cat in the bag,
when I was with my love,
I was the daredevil who ran the show,
twisted hate to love in bloom, the devil
of misfortune and abuse into peace,
when I was with my love,
I stuck my head in beehives
and my hands in God's sleeves,
or in rabbit holes, admiring
those minions' accomplishment,
when I was with my love, clear-eyed
and glued to faith and optimism,
my eternal delight,
when I was with my love, I
laid siege to love's firewall,
questioned nothing, happy as a light footed rabbit
scanning the meadow, oh how I wish I was still
with my lover.
Blush
fair skies
mist Sol-kissed
citrine seduced
mimosa clouds bask
dreamy in champagne light
golden-god’s sparkle fills
chalices roused and
rouged as poppies
hail dawn with
unfurled
whorls
Susan Ashley
August 16, 2021
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Merse
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
*rouged: verb; French; colored red*
*image: Nature Wallpapers > Fields > Poppy field at sunrise*
...who nurtures with hope
cares with conviction
cherishes dreams
mends lost minds
remedies surrender
relieves hemlock of time
fills broken chalices
quenches thirst for belief
he or she is a faith healer
a fathomless feather
an ink pot of stories untold
who heals with faith
nurses from doubt
restores faith to heal
narratives change
fabulations retire
to the scrap-yarn
of vanished mistrust
and the poet embraces
reliable emotions
for the sake of being
a surgeon of despair ...
01st December 2020
when you said you were
horny i didn't think
meaning on your
head
so far i just thought perhaps
centaur but a horse
of course is not
what
you are beyond the feminine
you are by far not one
of them but then
again
kissing hair other then there
and feeling static legs
that equal
mine
even her pursuit seems stronger
then flutes yet devinely
vowing to allow her
to have
me moves to the groove of a pan
pipe's melody which then
seeing i'm loving and
drinking
with a lustful beast as much
i to meet with need and
do concede to her
goat's
Goddess tongue as cups of wine
from chalices flow in streams
waterfalling from her
breasts
she
she
she can
have all of me
any time
The dawn of anticipated darkness,
Pierces these gilded walls.
The smoulder of sinister heat arising-
An entombment of dreams.
Let us raise our chalices of stars
To toast these woodland creatures emerging.
From beyond the drapes of tasseled velvet,
Through the seeps by light of moon.
Find the phantoms that dwell in lit shadows;
They stray to the rhythm of unwhispered truths.
Is this magic that lifts these masks afloat?
Oh, look around! There’s one more behind you!
I behold you, silken facade,
By glimpses across the candelabra.
Do you feel the coming
Of our night’s story awaiting a beginning.
Take care to not unmask these veils
For no revelations should come alight.
As our hands embrace and we glide,
Feigning ignorance in only this night.
I've rented a room with a view
of a freshwater lake with a hue
Nature's deepest sparkling blue …
I've rented a room with a view
of a garden with every conceivable flower
whose scents grow more fragrant each hour
I've rented a room with a view
of stunning alabaster palaces
engraved with exquisite chalices
I've rented a room with a view
of a forest deep and enchanted
where gold and blue macaws are planted
In each room I've rented's a view
that elicits many an ah and an ooh
Yet I'd trade the whole lot of these views
~ for one more evening, my angel, with you
Gait precedes her beauty,
Her calm nature - a soothing balm to Sango's anger,
calumny isn't our threshold mark, yet,
she sells shells for the onlookers.
The aura of her loins,
weakness I cannot feign.
Dreadful in the sight of the Lions,
but a cave light for Dem enchantress.
Shall you say your beauty runs us berserk?
Has it taken away our senses?
Nature has its call and obedience to call, for,
forlon nature drives us mad.
Wit of Kings faileth all,
strength of Hercules buried him.
What shall we say then of this treasure?
Time has its' gain on it!
Beware of the chalices.
The strength hasn't failed me yet.
Wits hasn't gone out of one.
Ewatomi.
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