Autumn
A northwest breeze gently caresses my face,
and nine days linger until first day of fall.
Each change of seasons I readily embrace,
I see cascading leaves and hear Geese that call.
winter
Then comes winter with it’s seasonal blast,
when often, tree branches, wear winter attire.
Frequently this season leaves me downcast,
but the smouldering fire becomes my pacifier.
spring
Then buds sprout and grass begins to green,
spring always brings with it new birth.
I watch songbirds as they sing and preen,
and plant things that grow in God’s rich earth.
Summer
Summer is the season of some harsh extremes,
a sweltering heat index often affects my inhaling.
It conjures up my visions of rippling streams,
each season becomes a portrait God’s unveiling.
Lunatic
The mind is such a terrorist
It won t allow you to forget
And conjures up things that
Aren’t real and loops them over
And over again and again
There is no cure for CRAZY
TED THE OLD POET*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
with ink-stained hands, Ted conjures up verses
with verses soft, tears he sheds
of dreams past and paths he tread
compassion for himself spreads
*Note:poem originally written and submitted to Poetry Soup, June 25. I later deleted it. This is my original poem.
the sacral zone
conjoined with the all
conjures a bliss squall
no node is alone
in this play of delight
as pulsations rise
each touch a surprise
renewing day and night
A lightbulb conjures Edison
but shines on another,
relevant
in the war of currents, (1)
that another player sparked -
vastly intelligent.
It would be the world's fate
to have its current alternate,
and, too, Tesla spared the elephant. (2)
(1) In the "War of the Currents" in the late 1880s and early 1890s, surrounding the introduction of competing electric power transmission systems, Thomas Edison promoted Direct Current (DC), and Nikola Tesla promoted Alternating Current (AC), which is now the standard for power grids around the world.
(2) Per Wikipedia, "In popular culture, Topsy [the elephant] is often portrayed as being electrocuted in a public demonstration organized by Thomas Edison during the war of the currents to show the dangers of alternating current." However, it goes on to reveal a more complex (but just as horrible) truth.
scriptures affirm our soul exists
where then is its abode
engulfed by angst, deep doubt persists
heart bears a heavy load
when light pays homage to darkness
mind conjures fear demons
bemused by illusions we drown
till rescued by silence
sans thought, our wayward ego dies
thoughts fade we yet remain
betwixt bliss beats, soul presence sighs
grace falls down like light rain
in the bardo, as we let go
poised in the vibrant void
at a singularity point
clear light of wisdom dawns
our soul’s eye opens that we see
we’re in truth, living light
though caged in form, we’re always free
blissful by day and night
Who pens the words we express,
displaying state of undress,
of pure heart’s childlike intent,
in vibrational descent?
From the tranquil stillness point,
the light of Self does anoint,
our pulsating, vibrant heart,
to create a work of art.
Vibes interpreted by mind,
which is with our soul aligned,
conjures then a gentle breeze,
penning love poems with ease.
having aged, we’re no longer in our prime
yet vibrance of our heart remains intact
tweets of love continuing to transact
each moment deemed as the optimal time
heart sings a song and we dance to its chime
lost in ambedo trance, God’s grace attract
and as bliss beats with our form make contact
resting in stillness mind conjures a rhyme
one day this dream life will come to an end
but since we dwell in heart and not in mind
presence is upbeat, suffused with cool heat
borne by bliss, our chosen way to ascend
pure love drenched soul following the scent blind
delights as refrains of rapture repeat
Quote from Berowne in "As You Like It"
"And I, forsooth, in love!". Now Shakespeare speaking with his good friend Richard Burbage.....
I must tell you forsooth
of my midsummer dream
a witch conjures bluetooth
her thoughts an air stream
oh crucify me not
t'is just a fantasy
and a wonderous plot
for some more alchemy
my very dear Burbage
this bluetooth will be king
Lear is merely garbage
when the airwaves can sing
now what madness is this
my dear friend, think again
to an ear no such kiss
of an unseen refrain
t'was an enticing thought
but I must beg of you
the notion is but naught
to taming of the shrew
ah well Burbage old friend
your counsel I so respect
thoughts of bluetooth I will end
my thanks for your connect
With blithe Poppins, leaving our bedside,
for an extraordinary boat ride.
Probably not a witch; in her spell.
She conjures wonderful carousel.
Carousel sounds good and ferocious.
Spell magic (bit of …alidocious)
Ride full moonshine’s great folly and scales.
Bedside, not a time for fairytales.
Wake up super tucked-in and tuckered.
He conjures pretty poems and proses,
but something in the wicked wind forewarns,
In his eyes, a sea of roses,
in his flesh, the pain of thorns.
A child, swinging gaily on the beach,
in back, a little girl, within his reach,
before his eyes, a sapphire blue,
but behind him, soon his ears,
heard a toddler on the sand, in tears.
In school, he read of heroes, brave and true -
when he'd grow up, that's what he'd do,
but some things wash away with time.
The ideals seen by the young man's eyes
would flit away like butterflies.
One day, in matrimony, he would wed,
"To have and to hold", is what he said.
He cursed his eyes, which would betray.
A happy family is what they could see,
but the wind said it was not to be.
He conjures pretty poems and proses,
but something in the wicked wind forewarns,
In his eyes, a sea of roses,
in his flesh, the pain of thorns.
dreams
conjures
fantasy ~
A gilded cage
or Icarus' wings?
the amethyst sky sings
serenading us, who sleeps
ephemeral though we may be
through this effervescent escapade
we who dream drifts along eternity
Eternity abides in those who dream
unwinding hopes too often congealed
painting the night with faith yet found
who can see illusions speak?
This unfeeling façade
beguiling the eyes
wipes our essence
redressing
them with
haze
Never do we dream of the once-upon-a-somber-song to fade away,
as moments from the milky moon begin to twirl and sway.
A murky mist of miscalculated mystery makes haste,
sneaking its way along the deserted hallways of locked gates,
weakening the rustic joints of porcelain pillars straight down to untouched floors.
Why must it wait for the sun to be its guide?
For in the darkness, love too can be the greatest tide.
Can the curiosity of a claw discover the depths of a divine madness?
Or could these fangs find themselves vehemently festering
in the corners of unwelcome elements?
Let a limb take its quest along the walkway to the endless sea.
Taste the tortured tears crawling down these decaying knees.
Hold unflinchingly to the fire that aches to roar—
do not let it scream, for it conjures for more.
Time can prepare a frozen glass to let little condescensions
slide down an auburn wood.
Yet something about a restless evening
makes an iron fist feloniously curl up,
as if it so sensationally should.
Breath by breath, in fears sinking,
yet addicted to thinking,
we’ve examined not the cause,
why we don’t dwell in the pause.
Unshackled from our mind tree,
minus thought, we’re always free
and God meets our every need,
if we let love take the lead.
Scripts mind conjures defines us,
in illusions that nonplus,
so thought once boon is now bane;
a chain, a strain, our soul’s stain.
Thoughts but feed ego’s desire,
indulgence from when we tire,
our awareness self-aware,
breathes in mists of bliss drenched air.
carved jack-o-lanterns
a sentinel of pumpkins
vegetable gargoyles
an ebony cat
a marble gravestone scratchpad
feline familiar
wolves howl at the moon
bat wings whisper in the dark
creatures of the night
monsters in costume
banging on neighborhood doors
shouts of trick-or-treat
Halloween; conjures the dead;
fueling feelings of dread.
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