Tangents.
Nothing like the howling roof.
Or the clasps of blades of grass.
Nothing empty as-
Connections of piano keys.
Or horrible things, changes, socks.
Growth,
Or waiting.
Or carpet fibers along the path.
Tangents.
We always go back to small sounds.
Tangents.
We always eat things.
Tangents.
So nothing new came along after all.
tentative outreach
heartbeat ignites yearning love
her soft hand clasps mine
Steel insulation warm thin hot smooth downy shepherd smoothness. Pistol clasps palms crystal misses birching basket weavers.
Fluffy firm pedestals release hard deniers.
Doldrum office charts demonstrating
Appendages conceal resistance.
Halcyon boogie board heroes.
Greek play rehearsal.
Steel insulation warm thin hot smooth downy shepherd smoothness. Pistol clasps palms crystal misses birching basket weavers.
Fluffy firm pedestals release hard deniers.
Doldrum office charts demonstrating
Appendages conceal resistance.
Halcyon boogie board heroes.
Greek play rehearsal.
In Marked Territory 10-28-24 - Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Marked Territory
Midnight tightly clasps the darkness,
Like a wounded heart,
In between topaz edges of twilight
And pastels of first light.
Jealous of its cosmos
Shoos away the master of the day
Turning the face of the daystar
To other skies
To claim small hours.
Guardian of vanishing infinities
Speaks
Indigo borders
For moonlight
Moonbows
And wishes on the first brave star
Where waves of the galaxy
Break
Over unseen edges of stellar sands.
Lit only by celestial lanterns
Enchanter
Conjures sovereign spells
Declaring jurisdiction over platinum roses
And
Lover’s sighs
That wax then wane under polar stars.
Night rules this welkin magic,
A sorcerer hiding a book of spells,
This realm under the starry arch
The moonrise
The nebulae decorating the firmament,
Where gravity hems in epiphanies.
God loves and cares, He sees our tears,
And knows the number of our hairs.
When tears like dewdrops flow and fall
His mythic mug collects them all.
Be they the tears that babies cry,
Or those we shed when loved ones die.
God sees our tears and knows the cause,
He stores them in His virtual vase.
God understands the speech of tears,
He hears our hearts and clasps our cares.
Things that offend and cause us pain,
He wants to work out for our gain.
When our tears, like a fountain flow,
A river gushing from our woe.
God’s vessel vast, the drops retain,
He stores them up like sheaves of grain.
If you feel burdened with life’s cares,
And fed with bread and drink of tears.
“Cheer up my child,” says God on high,
“soon, I’ll wipe away tears from your eyes.”
“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome." ~ Anne Bradstreet
Winter’s quick wind slips shadows through my soul,
Risking dawn’s light, leaving a mournful glow.
Deprived winking stars, moon will still console,
Grasping night with promise of graceful flow.
Wintery breath clasps the silent snow’s fall,
Rescuing each flake with cool, frosty thanks.
Gasping at the dance, beauty not so small,
Braving the night, gentling even snowbanks.
Wintertime comes and goes, leaving light trails,
Glistening joys, falling from the night skies,
Racing to meet life with enticing tales,
Memories of sweet love that never dies.
Winter’s easy light glows into the night,
Moving souls to hear its legend so bright.
Written: November 21, 2023
__________________________________________
My grasp soars to the sky.
billions of light-years into space
Inducing the comely azure to
caress cynosure constellations
reaching out, the spinning moon
Brushes them back and beyond
I whisk them away
delicate, languid, celestial body
fully, further filling my firkin
amid a slew of diaphanous stars.
Tonight, I will relive an exquisite display
here in my dimly lit room,
and disperse them all over the place.
I tie them to the tree twigs
featuring self-adhesive clasps
refinishing the wooden floors
with cascading tiny orbs
tonight, I lie in the city of stars.
Once more my hand clasps the vial,
trembles with its crystal cold.
my heart craves the ruby liquid within
and so once more I bring it to my lips
and drink the fiery torrent to the last
Once more my dark room dissolves
fading into nothingness
as I fly to that familiar door
and so once more I enter realms of light
and revel in the freedom that world brings
Once more my mind's unburdened
from the demons therein dwell
for here they are entombed in cruel cages
and so once more I hear their anguished cries
and laugh at my tormentors agony
Once more my soul knows solace
albeit temporary
the fiery torrent returns to its source
and so once more I'm cast back to my woe
and resume my pitiful existence
until once more I can clasp
the phial that holds peace within
Chilled by the air that clasps my feet
with a needed rub…rubious tingles.
The door ajar with Autumnal treat.
Swept away, the humidity and its heat.
A little cold air and steaming drink,
The coffee, brave and daring.
It cools off quicker, on the brink.
From this seasonal invite, I will not shrink.
Just a small window in the hourglass,
Before the roar of arctic temperatures.
Exaggeration at best - it will kick the brass,
Inform me to quilt or sweater this lass.
Written: August 19, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Tall bundles of wild fragrant lavender bloom.
Life's hidden clasps in the round garden boom.
They tower over the lavish green landscape.
Intricately marked, vibrant auburn shape.
They sway silently in the mild breeze.
Their petals—such lovely sighs, appease.
A picture—a utopian scene, a work of natural art.
This garden on a hill—an exquisite part
The wind blew—carrying their delicate scent.
A smell infused in the air—leaves you content.
Guiding bees and butterflies to their home,
A symphony of life in full bloom
Each bloom, a testament to resilience,
Surviving the harshness of seasons' brilliance
Their roots, deep in the earth's embrace,
Nurtured by the sun's warm grace.
In this garden of wonders—they thrive.
Painting the landscape, keeping it alive.
Whispers of stramineous on the hill,
A reminder to embrace life's thrill
So come, wander through this enchanting scene.
Where emerald green meets auburn—serene.
Breathe in the essence of this magical place.
Let it wash over you, leaving no trace.
“The moon’s vision of humanity
Was something that it once desired
Tinkle, swoouf, it pondered
As it’s luminescence gazed at its prodigious oceans
The defunct dissection of the body fell into silence as it glanced back
Clish, clash, it wavered
It’s fluorescence gestured odiously
Enraging it’s radiance with envy
Woosh, clasps, oceans grew in his incensed intention
It never had a society that walked on its ground
A place, that humans recall home
stomp, clasp, It thought
Oceans trickled with peril as the moon grew its waves
Slash, sloosh, the clutter that pollutes the water clustered against its weight
The moon then rebounded; remarking the objects
Sling slang, swoosh, oceans sang it's mercy
It’s reminiscence then discerned the cunning truth
“The grass always seems greener on the other side”
bluesy blurbs
of
brumal
blackness
its
crawling
clasps
of
silvery
gnawing
below
shriveled
shades
of
oxidized
&
deep
haze
immure
&
wait
awakening
cold winter
warm soul
&
henceforth
will hear
pearly
chants
from
Birdie
Green
with neon
embers
swirling
fractals
of
gemmed
hues
in
spirit
for
soft
knock
of
spring
on
frozen
shell
of
withered
dreams
Written: January 15, 2023
3rd place contest winner
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Brian Strand Contest No 1170 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
on
the palm
turmoil fate
of the next year
as like burning coal
no peace in working hand
backbone is suffering clasps
waiting for the new tragic time
sipping the slaver of dearth panic
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
10/08/2022
The eagle clasps the cliff with his claws,
his feathers fluttering in the wind;
and the sky is blue with clouds drifting,
as the rolling sea beneath whispers restless;
oh, there is a hush and waiting _
the plunges rising up with a fish . . .
_________________________
October 08, 2022
Poetry/Verse/The Eagle
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1493-214-08
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bite Size Poem No. 53
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 10/20/2022
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