Blue blooms shine blue sapphires; red buds resemble rubies.
Leaf blades, tinged with diamond dew drops, tease the gentle breeze.
Green and yellow combine and coalesce to form green gold.
Glows of silver and gold flow through petioles uncontrolled.
The environs, with rainbow dust, create celestial scenes.
Kaleidoscopic paint drops ripple over crystal streams.
Pieces of peace pass through the concords of the moon and stars.
To swim into this sea of stillness, I feel no age bars.
The blood-red moon, merged with the sky, seems to sing lullabies.
For their late entry, the grey clouds humbly apologise.
Soul stolen body bemused I do not know what to say.
I stay there for a long time, like a child who lost his way.
Categories:
concords, moon, nature,
Form: Rhyme
I'm on that stupid mode!
Ignorance shooting like haters:
No wars, no conflicts...
Running in circles: "Ain't that Ouroboros"
I know Venus scared of snakes,
Hence the circle we always have to draw!
Whoa! creepy nights as moon crescent appears,
waning..., waning..., waning...!
New babes coming and dark lovers:
Barking and howling for lock hours,
Opening windows for outcasted ghosts;
Top air winds coming in...
Greens and purples to being laughed-
at by dolls, no puppet masters...
Little strange things, girlish "leaning"
on my vintage; vanish painted doors,
Oh Willie...!
Having bad trips due to low sugar levels
Driving "fast" In the dark,
Humming..., humming..., humming...!
Staring at the windscreen:
As I reach those tunnels;
hallucinations as I'm afraid of exaggerations,
even though I love sarcasm!
And playing around with syllables-
knowing "grammar" gonna get me:
Dark pens with red inks;
Red lines drawn across words:
Sentenced, concords fighting with jargon!
Hyphens stopping the war but not recognized by the Language,
Gotta keep order: Guess no one likes broken English!
Categories:
concords, art, image, imagination, irony,
Form: Free verse
Where the Osages' God almighty once reigned
The almighty dollar their proud life- blood drained
As man- made arteries pumped out the rich black oil
Making a mockery of their sacred soil
Their native American dream withered and died
A bounty built on bodies the thieves satisfied
Slick concords duped and dealt deceit
Gilt edged profit a one way street
Guilt hardened minds plundered their lands
Blood and oil both besmirching their sands
With their sacred lands profaned ,laid bare and dry
Vengeance is their spectral spirits' only cry
Categories:
concords, anger, hurt,
Form: Rhyme
At Rio David stole solid gold in boccia,
With a score of 5-0, won it unquestionably,
Flashing punk blue hair, his hairdresser,
Gave him a discount for his flamboyancy.
With spastic quadriplegia cerebral palsy,
He throws the ball in team and individuals,
As near as he can to the jack, successfully,
He’s loved by Cedar and Treloars schools.
Born on the 2nd March 1989 in Eastleigh,
Hampshire, he won with his GB team a gold,
At the 2008 Beijing Paralympics heavy,
Then in 2012, won a silver and bronze bold.
David stormed the Europa Cup in Norway,
In 2011 to win gold, and in Befast the Worlds,
He took bronze. He studies hard at university,
Aerospace Engineering for WW II’s Concords.
“When it’s close I have to use the energy
I will. With the crowd it’s great because, [ok],
you can get them on your side and [easily]
psyche out your opponent [to win the day].”
Categories:
concords, sports, strength,
Form: Quatrain
Joanna Davis
The' jingle, jangle', of life’s bustling pace
is filled with concords of the human race.
Towards and ending that’s yet to unfold,
for the next generation our story is old
The tour we embark on, each step we take,
is forever deciding the choices we make
The limbo, two-step, waltz or the jive
Will all play a part in how well we survive.
If you listen carefully to every sound,
you’ll flow with the music, not stumble around
When in tune with beat, each step you take,
Becomes part of life’s rhythm, make no mistake
Categories:
concords, allegory, confusion, faith, happiness,
Form: Rondeau Redouble
Peace at stake,
it worked.
Withdrawal of rubber dolls
playing with fire.
Empty bowls in lunar month.
Concords were flying very high
noiselessly crossing the peaks
of great grudges.
Pure golden hair –
of grief.
It really was miracle.
Bald eagle was waiting.
Enough time to steer a murder.
The irresistable desire
to rub with a paranoid.
Extracting a genius from mediocre genera.
Life had become too genteel.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
concords, adventure, allegory, angst, animals,
Form: ABC
Last name here, First step there, only one allay...
Vestige sagacity, flaxen ochroid genes skitter down,
Diddle drizzled dints to acquiesce an ugly axis,
Whet of whiled grime, tips on me thus to dawn,
In hands of lonely children, bid these lips bye-bye...
Bequest oaths, for ode by love is a home plight,
Coalescing pivots crux fine fortunes through,
Docent tasks fathom nature's dew of grief,
Tons of totes vex abstruse wills to loot,
But virtuous lenity glib adept heartfelt reefs,
Gait jiffy haps with tribes so grim time tears,
God's flanges tarry finales who lope o'er losers,
But foremost, guerdon sojourn souls aiding others...
Accouter the outfitter by concords of trust,
Master a gentlemen and woman of good taste,
Upon Sunrise and Sunset, leave wise and do weep,
The bequeath of ensuing generations propound...
Upon birth and grave, life and death, -but more life...
Categories:
concords, anniversary, family, children, mystery,
Form: Free verse