awake usual thoughts
failures made imposed
turn others sleep
those like may also awake
guilt not helping light
rest night fears conflicts
wars doubts known not
all prepositioned
keep hope peace joy love
isolated chambered atomized
quarked vanquished
Lord Jesus maybe will
many claim dead still
resurrection appendage
little importance since
not fit soteriology
identity not body
only survives death
timeless eternity reincarnated heaven
space sans time spent looking edge
those not yet arrived
waiting again undiscovering
one another simultaneously
except frozen eternity
Lord be raised embodied ongoing
time continued timely together
see those sleep those cannot
night pray
now three two hours
now one before dawn
Fred wed, Fred said
My wife chose another man's bed
Fred bled, Fred's dead
He chambered a round in his head
I stopped for a moment to cherish the piercing and vivid
It was a split-second; behind cloud-like eyelids
There's a softness, being caught in their scope
Causing sorrows to quickly turn, into genuine hope
In my heart secretly chambered, hides your love tender and lush
Awakened to dreams that have long been asleep,
Whispering our sweet secrets with a gentle hush,
As if to assure my world they were meant to keep
What our welded link has forever awoken
Beyond the blue in those skies, light shines so deep,
Illuminating paths that were once broken,
Within the landscape of time, our true colors blend,
Recreating moments that fully transcend,
Forever etched in my memory's bend,
A testament that love's eternally fair
Let's hold tighter this second chance we both share,
For it's the only thing, that will truly be, beyond compare
To you coming back into my life with loving eyes that still care
It’s been a long time since
I’ve ventured into
this new studio of mine—
dust has settled like ashes
on the unshelved books
and the jars of brushes
still packed away in boxes
that intimidate me.
Since I’m already here
I might as well unpack
one carton of my past.
I slit the tape on a box
labeled Miscellaneous,
not knowing what I’ll find.
Inside, a parrot, a toucan,
some triangles and French curves.
And buried deeper —
a chambered nautilus,
a Royal Doulton mare and foal,
and a photo of my daughter
in the beloved red clogs
we bought in Reykjavik—
and which she took to bed with her
each night ‘til she outgrew them —
legs crossed like a diva,
already queen of her small world.
The room watches in stillness
as I lay each relic
in the light like an offering,
and with each one
the unfamiliar space
begins to feel it might really
become my new studio.
Something in me loosens—
and begins to believe it too.
My knees crack as I rise—
it’s not exactly
a resurrection, but it’s
close enough for a Thursday.
I dust off the windowsill,
open another box,
and let the light fall in.
Maybe, just maybe,
I might be home at last.
A soul's etched cartography
compasses spins a needle frantic
above a parchment of skin.
A map…
Each line a river I've drowned in,
blood I waded and divide
each faded scar
a language scarlet, unfound!
My soul no longer shapes
foreign land of waste annihilates
behind my eyes...!
I see nothing
deserts exhale silent sacred sands…
Hearts pulse with unheard drums
an archway to oblivion
weathered eons I haven't lived.
I drift towards a courtyard,
run riot in green eternally…
Where faces blur like old cars
my mind whispers, doom from afar
on winds that don't remember me.
Trace the contours of my lost continents
in this cartography of bone and shadow.
Forgotten by the wraiths of the moon…
that echo within my chambered heart.
A tarnished key lies heavy in my mind,
unlocking doors behind infinite walls… sublime!
Do you suppose the monkey knows?
He has ten fingers and ten toes.
He has a brain inside his cranium,
If you ask me, that ain't so dumb.
Do you suppose the monkey knows?
Merry Christmas from Monkeyland,
from ten fingers on two hands.
In addition to all those,
Season's Greetings from ten toes.
Have a New Year, hearty and hale
from my prehensile tail...
.... .... ....
Happy New Year's from my smart brain,
which my brainpan doth contain.
That, my friend, is just a start.
I wish you love from my four-chambered heart.
Do you suppose the monkey knows
He's not wearing any clothes?
Through arid nights
They fire their gun
But do not see
my war is done
the years of blood
have stained my skin
and chambered death
inside a grin
I have born my soul
To no applause
And washed up on
A thousand shores
When the blasts denote
That death is near
And the mists of dream
Are all but clear
As voices fade
Behind the sun
Then all shall see
My war is done
Chambered secrets are
better kept hidden from world
then fall in wrong hands
"If a clown don't make you laugh, that's because you're an adult from Mars," ... by The Poet
'Tis magical youth-phemism plays its part,
and subtle measures of bliss-phemism chart,
a suite chambered core harmonized whose heart,
discovers a treasured keepsake impart,
photogenic instants a kid's jump start,
when purposed failure is a work of art,
amidst submerging laughter comes apart,
until the clown blasts, "Kids you're a sweetheart!"
The nautilus is listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act.
The chambered nautilus (Nautilus pompilius) is a large, mobile cephalopod. They are called "living fossils" and have been around for about 500 million years. They were here before dinosaurs.
Nautilus shell
By Michelle Morris
29/08/2023
The nautilus shell
Is mathematical perfection
The golden ratio
In constant action
For Nature is perfect
In her wild and cyclical ways
Timing things in sync
To support all species on our planet
Conservation of our oceans
Can make a lasting difference
If we'd only use our resources
To save ocean life from extinction
For the magic and miracles
That abounds in Nature
Is being decimated too quickly
For us to experience them in person
The nautilus shell
Remains mathematical perfection
May the Big Blue survive and thrive
Beyond all human interaction
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Oh, to preach, to pontificate
Seize the “bully” pulpit
Bask in the reverberations
Of your own voice
Mock the sanctity of silence
To expound on the simplicity
Of the impossibly attainable
Berate the questioners
Expound on humility
In stained glass superiority
To infiltrate the openness
Of childlike minds
Inculcate the innocence
With tainted seed
Oh, rave on
You echo-chambered ego
Your bellicose denials
Deny their truth
John G. Lawless
©6/27/2023
Home, they say, does quicken beating hearts,
yet mine protests as I prepare to go.
Chambered rooms, stretched endless miles apart,
strain the pump and cause the blood to slow.
Precious thoughts of her upon my chest
stoke the fires and help the embers burn;
Vivian, may thy sweet days be blessed
Till in a month I’m able to return.
Deep in coiled chambered hearts
mortal designs conspire
in arcane chamber hearts
pump isometric drugs
the cathode ray desires
as electric images expire
what are the strange
things that toil in the Dark
idle thoughts and brittle bones conspire
like ancient snow graced by divinities
of apathy in oblivion
cast in shards of cruel inner demons
accessing cathartic chambered hearts
pump isometric drugs as photons collide
reside as something coils
in mortal minds deep chambered hearts
as electric image expire!
Toil in complex hidden things,
secret spirits within moving parts
of shadowed arts a world within worlds
doors open on to cryptic passages.
Open on to hidden spheres,
like chambers in a nautilus, that coil
down, a helix of dream worlds
within worlds without and between.
The inner sanctum‘s the secret self
adrift in realms of the ghost n machines
and complex hidden things…
A part of the shadowed arts
within sacred secret hearts,
within the ghost in machines,
of chambered parts
of complex arts!
Tonight I will write
no profound verse,
nothing negatively terse –
alternately worse,
I will only, in my reconsidering mind
and multi-chambered, often corrosive heart,
rehearse my better, positive part; where
I should and could mostly dwell, hearkening to
heaven's angels, as opposed to earth's usual
demons of Waring hell....
of a world on the brink,
the poison man's ill temperament
is too quickly to buy and drink –
Tonight, I will not think, of man's moral stink,
but focus on sweeter scents, those of springtime's
charming, whirling nectars; and a bright moon without a tinge
of hazy blue – I will plant new garden memories
for the now season of fresh cultivation, rotating my
gifted seeds as a respectful steward, not wanting to deplete
the soul of a fertile land on loan – pausing to listen
to the awakening, champagne fizz of gentile showers,
the aeration of my crops~
uncorking, nose tickling
delightful pops....
Related Poems