They sing about my doorway
in throbbing waves of Florida heat,
repeating melodies of beauty,
soft and low, soft and low.
Raising limbs in gentle consonance
to strains piercingly sweet,
their mouths wide open choristers,
I see the crimson trembling of their throats,
quivering with symphonious vibrations;
oh, the gentle music they compose,
soft and low, soft and low.
Can you sense their tremulous silence,
most exquisite on the evening air,
a performance for discerning hearts
hear these hibiscus hymns of lavish praise
soft and low, soft and low.
July 22, 2026
Hymn of the Heart Poetry Contest
Hiya Sharma, Sponsor
polished
&smooth
fluent
&novel
connect
a derivative
cultivate
the sentimental
romanticise
with
alliteration
accentualate
consonance
&assonance
make
discernible
the
detail
in a
discernible
prosaic
process
cite
the
thoughtful
Marriage turning into a menace, the couple craved for a riddance.
Through a divorce, finally got freed of their alliance.
Months passed on without any occurrence.
Slowly, into their solitary lives began to creep silence.
The songs they heard, no more had any cadence.
The sunsets, they watched didn't have any brilliance.
Deep down, they felt deep annoyance,
And longed to seek shelter in each other for deliverance.
It was then that they met at a function by coincidence.
Though a chance meeting, it turned out to be of great relevance.
In a tone of deep regret she told, she was all repentance.
Both felt, most of their notions on marriage were sheer nonsense.
They, henceforth decided to live together in mutual acceptance,
Seeking shelter in each other in every turn of life with consonance.
That night with the stars peeping and all anxiety kept in abeyance,
They embraced each other, consummating their joyous confluence!
Two hearts,
Brought into consonance to beat as one,
I’ve envisioned these moments, woven in my dreams,
In a villa carved boldly into the rocky cliffs,
Overlooking sapphire waters, vast and eternal,
Engraved in my thoughts like whispers in the wind,
Those forever portraits of you, bathed in a golden haze of ivory silk,
At the water’s edge,
Lost in those icy blue eyes, piercing straight into my soul,
As the breeze, soft as silk, runs its fingers through your golden tresses,
Provoking a shiver, goosebumps rising,
over the warmth of your porcelain touch.
Without a word, I pull you close,
Our bodies entwining,
Scorching through our veins these celestial vibrations,
Unbreakable, like the radiant pulse of ruby-red diamonds
Dancing through the vastness of a distant nebula.
All of these feelings, these precious sentiments,
Transcending the very bounds of love,
Turning heart into imagination,
Propelling my ambitions, igniting the inferno
That once burned fiercely within.
Like a sea of prismatic crystals refracting
The fiery glow of a tiger-orange sun,
Rising to herald yet another season of summertime’s sultry magic.
Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance,
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres,
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.
Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.
In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes
or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?
I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.
I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.
There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.
In my kitchen's grasp, where spices hop free,
Whispers of our memories, in each recipe.
Khichdi's humble grace, a bow to our roots,
In grains and lentils, tradition assent.
Herbal notes linger, a fragrant ballet, a scenic design.
As generations gather, in love's display.
Grandma's hands, a harmony of care,
Amma's gentle touch, flavors rare.
Papadums bloat, tales of old flames,
In every fold, history takes flight.
Black tea's warmth, with Tulsi's caress,
A sip of time, warm embrace.
Amma's pickle, a tangy delight,
Mingling with Khichdi, in consonance light.
Handpicked mangoes, memories unfold,
A dab of pickle, a story retold.
The Great Indian Kitchen's embrace, ceaseless love
punctuation walks
on eggshells
when
words like
water
falls
flow into nothingness,
soaked in syrupy syllables
behind veiled vowels
assonance is the twin of
consonance as
a e i o u
are an
unfinished bridge
without connection
of consonants
weaved together
in visible
unspoken actions
woven without words
just like rhythmic meter
of thunder with lightning
like a lost refrain in a poem
assembled with enjambment
metaphorical reflections of a
reflective metaphor portray a
m i r a g e less sincere than silence
value blossoms
when the body adopts
a gospel language
where speech
is unnecessary
unless expressed
through true
dialects of conduct
without the use of
lyrical accessories.
There exists a song for you to die to
If you’d only open your heart to hear it
Its familiar melody greets you warmly, as if an old friend
Easing your attachments, releasing your fears
A progression of chords guiding you down to your most quiet depths
The consonance melts your trembling nerves as you sink into a deep pool of peace
The darkness grows and you welcome the stillness, remembering
You’ve been here before
Velvet sounds filling the space between your final breaths
Holding you close, it gently whispers
And you are cradled in this symphony of loving awareness
As you drift off into the sweetest of slumbers
Marriage turning into a menace, the couple wished for a riddance.
Through a divorce, finally got freed of their alliance.
Months passed on without any occurrence.
Slowly, into their solitary lives began to creep silence.
The songs they heard, no more had any cadence.
The sunsets, they watched didn't have any brilliance.
Deep down, they felt deep annoyance,
And longed to seek shelter in each other for deliverance.
It was then that they met at a function by coincidence.
Though a chance meeting, it turned out to be of great relevance.
In a tone of deep regret she told, she was all repentance.
Both felt, most of their notions on marriage were sheer nonsense.
They, henceforth decided to live together in mutual acceptance,
Seek shelter in each other in every turn of life with consonance.
That night with the stars peeping and all anxiety kept in abeyance,
They embraced each other, consummating their joyous confluence!
Harmonious is not a horrid homogenized concoction,
pulsed and blitzed in a blender mixer,
until the notes and flavors meld and gel set.
Instead it is a polyphonic pitch ensemble,
a juxtaposition of notes in counterpoint.
Chords, sounds, glissando's and voices
all intermingle as individuals,
balancing consonance and dissonance
in harmony.
When your world goes way out of tune,
discordant in cacophony,
clanging with noisy chaotic strife!
Get your harpsichord re-tuned afresh,
to sound notes of love, true blue, not bluesy bent.
Then your soul can be harmonious again
in rhythmic syncopating jam sessions,
adlibbing with your soul mates,
in a potpourri of flavors, savored
harmonious.
For many years, I was an island,
Sailing along the troubled seas;
Not finding a place to land,
Longing for love and peace.
Then she came, and like a compass,
She gave me a clear direction;
And the cold heart that I was
Was sparked by her affection.
Now, I am lost, no more,
For she gave me faith and valor;
The troubled winds on my rugged shore
Were tamed by her glamour.
*In consonance to the apparition in my vision of the blessed virgin Mary*
August 31, 2022
The Epiphany that changed my life poetry contest (2nd place)
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Two gems settle in your chest; love and sympathy.
Which prevents obstacles but not wisdom
Quietness contributes to the rise and serenity.
Times of jaunt and jubilation with no schism
Many crowns gaze away from the ground.
There are no swirls infused into the screen.
The tones soften as the deep-hued downed.
Feeling the slight shifts in his close keen.
Inept and vain ambitions utter to fade away.
Aim to unleash the resources of practice
Allow us to care for our stallion today
Inviting our perceptions to beat in consonance.
He is again intensely in love with her.
Coupling in the early era of kid's ethics to give
Then comes the discovery of one's genuine fear
The sense of what is precious to live
Tulips bloom, forming a hazy layer of clever
shine brightly with a light that is fast and safe
as we get closer to our goal, a wave of pleasure
Such a serene emotion and a pure spirit is not naif
Written MAY 10, 2021
Workshop: Inviting The Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jack Webster
When I die
I give the Pulitzer Board
Permission
To exhume my lyrics
And some overweight ME
Will put my verses on a slab
Going thru my stanzas for tone
looking for assonance and
Consonance in my bones
As my family waits around to see
If i really was a great poet
And they will probe my lines
for cadence
Meter and Trochee
Taking notes
As they dissect
My poetry
They will say I was anemic
On my tercets
And many of my quatrains were forced
As they search for the source
One of the examiners
will write on his tablet
That I never wrote
A Sestina or villanelle
They will note, He was good.
But his books didn't really sell.
The NAACP will close that he didn’t
Represent the Black community
Like King or Rosa Parks
Leaving my legacy a question mark
And no one will be specifically sure
If I advanced the Black Race
Leaving the matter a Cold Case
My kids will ask
But what does all this mean?
Was he really a great poet?
Was he as good as Frost or Hughes
The examiner will stare confused
The autopsy will be intrusive
And they will say:
REPORT INCONCLUSIVE!!
I want to start with some simple Alliteration
seaside surf in winter is so very crisply cool
(try to fix find and fit some Personification
your wandering mind is a rambling fool).
Assonance very tense, it has much suspense
salty sands please even with winter’s breeze
(suppose I propose musing using Consonance
dismiss this I confess it does not please this).
Then in a Conceit I will write for you just to spite
the wide sea is a cold lover retreating from me.
(then why not Hyperbole? It is a lions’ might
cry a river of tears, I over this poem from thee!).
A Metaphor I have found I can always borrow
a sea of troubles rage for me on this winter morn
(Simile is just as good good today and tomorrow
he is like a bright moonbeam, shining on my scorn).
He does not like my effort here what of my Meter?
I leave the sea; to me I love the oceans’ sweet revelry
(Scansion done you have won a little love sweeter
for undoing moving and removing this piece from me).
(click on the pic to preview my poetry book)
+Her Spirit Sublime+
She knelt in God's marble chapel, in her uniform.
A suit of deep,forest green with fresh white blouse
honoring God, her King.
So young, she bowed her shiny brunette head in reverence,
Hearing the robins sing, that teenage spring, singing
in angelic consonance.
Her prayerbook of black leather, gold-leaf edges and
ribboned marker of red,
Made her realize as she stroked it, that is was only by God
was she to be led.
The delicate scent of candles that burnt so bright!
The artwork of mosaiced windows, sunlit-hued made her
feel heavenly light.
Her crystal, beaded rosary which transformed,the white marbled
walls, into a supernatural rainbow divine.
Grateful, to be in a school, that this memory still sings in her memory, sweet,alive and utterly, sublime!
11-30-2020
10:30am PST
**Poem of the Day**
12/2/2020
Dedication~ to my high school and religious mentors, who taught
me who runs this world! Thank you.
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