I watched awe-struck as God painted the sky today.
On a bright ice-blue canvas he splashed a silver-grey hue.
By joining his breath with the works of his brush strokes
he formed pictures of dragon, dog and kangaroo.
Then he blew them apart to float through the ether
and dissipate slowly in the depths of the void.
I contemplate time and the past that's retreated
faded and lost, like the clouds seemingly destroyed.
My vision is drawn to a small receptacle
that holds the ashes of the dusty clothes you wore.
While here in this cold world of manifest secrets
my heart knows a fear I will see you no more.
Then I remember sights of the heavens at night
when cloaking sun's brightness can no longer conceal
another world comprising millions of candles
lighting directions, other places to reveal.
And I realize that all is not as it seems.
Things may be invisible but nothing is gone.
And like the day's artwork of God's lustrous painting,
we simply change form, blend with creation, move on.
Early morning mist clings to the valley, cloaking the world in quiet gray. The air is crisp, tinged with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Each footstep along the winding trail is met with the gentle crunch of gravel and fallen leaves—a steady rhythm that echoes in the stillness. The mountains loom above, ancient and unmoving, their peaks hidden by shifting clouds. As I ascend, the path narrows and my breath grows shallow, but my spirit feels light, as if carried by the wind. Standing at the summit, the world unfurls beneath me—rivers glimmer, forests sprawl, and silence reigns, vast and unbroken.
Stone giants watching—
the sun’s gold spills on ridges,
eagles ride the dawn.
A Clever, Highly Intriguing Haibun Poetry Contest
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I can't see..?
Going on his worldview how it
Comes to be.'
How the Corrupted corpse of the un-holy see.? Figures in Georges mind.' Is it a generational phenomenon.?
Goodness me.' I must admit for some time
I walked that path, trusting some greater good, was balancing the wrath.? St Peters
Seat and prison of
St Paul, a place where those, were, who listened for Gods
Call.' Yet it seems they have joined the pharisees.? Operating with evil at ease.) The once picture, is now
a scattered puzzle?
With odd pieces, that might be bothered to
Stand at kill centers, to oppose and pray,yet on the whole, we follow evil ways.' Billions of funding going on wars, vatican
Bank in the mix, death pays well,
truth chafes raw.' And the mancles of mind control..Yet we are informed we can get well in this hole.? I read one Truth..good direction is stole, its been
'tricked up; and out'
Painted with gold.' What a parcel of lies
Twined in evils cloaking; and a heavy
blood red role.'
Snow is on its way the forecast is heavy. Its been referred to the beast from the East the land will be coated once more in white leaving it looking bridal as it shining in full glory. Brr I like the look of it but the cold is rather too much as we shiver. Spring seems a long long way in the distance as we snuggle under blankets. All is sleeping its hard to imagine the beauty and warmth also the colours of Spring that will coat the land bringing joy to many.
snow cloaking the earth
no signs of blazing colours
warmth is far away
the
lie
has
great power
in
deceiving mankind
thus
when
we
wear
the
cloaking ring
and
dorn
the
red cape
the
lie
becomes
the
truth
in
this world
and
impossible
to escape
I marveled her inch by inch
Such a perfect specimen
Cloaking the details of our
togetheress I wished her
mine in a respective fashion
She stood before me for me
to adore, I sought refuge in
my head to control the edges
Of passion that had me wishing
Wanting and lusting for her
Moments seemed like days
I hummed to be evasive
And sang when it was my part
Restarting our togetherness
For it to only restart
The passions of needing
The passions of wanting
Might love find us
As a lustful pleasing played it's
Part .
A drink to discover her tolerance
of me
Her wanting to smile a need for her
to be
I laughed as she was funny
I loved as she entertained
I costed out our togetherness
As each opportunity came
Communative she pondered
To ask communative information
I quickly responded to her communication
Love is on going
Might to which lovers start a new
Wham bam thank you ma'am
Sorry we are through
I marveled her inch by inch
Such a perfect specimen
Cloaking the details of our
togetheress I wished her
mine in a respective fashion
She stood before me for me
to adore, I sought refuge in
my head to control the edges
Of passion that had me wishing
Wanting and lusting for her
Moments seemed like days
I hummed to be evasive
And sang when it was my part
Restarting our togetherness
For it to only restart
The passions of needing
The passions of wanting
Might love find us
As a lustful pleasing played it's
Part .
A drink to discover her tolerance
of me
Her wanting to smile a need for her
to be
I laughed as she was funny
I loved as she entertained
I costed out our togetherness
As each opportunity came
Communative she pondered
To ask communative information
I quickly responded to her communication
Love is on going
Might to which lovers start a new
Wham bam thank you ma'am
Sorry we are through
Does life to anyone really make sense?
Or is all of mankind, really this dense?
God offers his wisdom and truth to man,
Yet it still seems we seldom understand.
Are we blinded by reason, and logic?
Surely, it’s not genes or biologic?
While meditating on things I don’t know,
It came to me; the culprit is ego.
Its goal is to always self-edify,
Secretly cloaking what’s seen with the eye.
The illusion creates a false belief,
The deception ends up, leading to grief.
To receive God’s truth, just look through his eyes,
To know the truth, just reject ego’s lies.
I place my pen so painfully on the page
Ink stains so sinister
Too dark for the heart to feel over again
And over again
And again
I feel my heart launch inside my throat
Choking me
Breath which used to come to easily
Thoughts once produced so placidly
So readily
Fade suddenly
Fog sets in
Cloaking the terror for a moment
Momentarily I detach
Again
It seems the pen must wait
Again
Patience must abound for again to have its chance to shine
crows caw,
cloaking catacombs~
beneath cataclysmic clouds.
Whirling flakes of fantasy softly tango,
cheek to cheek, or modestly waltzing strangers.
Blizzard whiteout buffaloes moon and starlight,
cloaking the lovers.
Frozen fountain, brazenly fetching, catching
coins of ice, those stupefied flattened pennies.
Queen of snow and fairies do bluster shavings.
Breathless the statue.
Snowmen slurry tottering, wayward listing.
Melting, baring, chattering cherub crystals.
Water flowing merrily whistles sport at
winter’s undressing.
Sometimes I dream
of falling asleep
on white powdered sand
as comfortable as a Futon
with powerful ocean waves
cloaking my legs and torso
like a blanket immersed
in saltwater
keeping me warm
each and every nig
“Of our ignorance, ego is the cause ~
Truth of our being is found in the pause”
~ quote by poet
As we slow down, light of soul is crystallised,
cloaking itself in five sheaths of feeble form,
out of which grossest is body, by us prized,
energised by magnetism, both cool and warm.
Truth of our inner light can be realised,
if ego agrees to die in a bliss storm,
to which end all we need to do, is be still,
delighting as dark voids within our heart fill.
In this guest room I only have this brown king-size blanket
To comfort me while I am also cloaking my movements
As I am dancing, listening to my headphones as I crank it.
In a cage of wrought iron, a white dove resides,
A symbol of love—of purity, where innocence abides.
It sings its song, a melody of longing and despair,
But its cries for attention are lost in the air.
Upon its perch, it dances with poise and grace,
Yet its captor’s gaze remains fixed on another’s face.
The cage, once a haven, now a prison cold,
Where loneliness and isolation take their suffocating hold.
A dark shroud descends to silence the bird’s plea,
Cloaking its beauty, its spirit, for none to see.
In the shadows it lingers, the bird’s resolve wanes,
Thoughts of freedom, hope refrains.
Yet beneath the veil of darkness and gloom,
The daring dove dreams of rising from this tomb.
To soar once more in the boundless sky above,
A free spirit, on a quest for love.
Though trapped and forgotten, its soul stays strong,
For within its breast, love’s flame burns on.
One day, perhaps, the cage will open wide,
And the white dove of love will spread its wings and fly.
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