The turning wheel of transient time
contrives chameleon colors
on the visage of mind’s panorama.
I travel lonesome in sunny days,
across the gleaming wilderness
or along the glittering garden path,
lined with blooming spring saplings.
Mind turns into memory montage,
configures bliss in kaleidoscopic collage,
reflection of joy I see in the mirror of life.
Love’s Goodbye
Those who ask
no questions
offer the greatest
comfort
Those who speak
inscriptive
tell the biggest
lies
Those who pledge
no fealty
to themselves
dishonor
Those who bear
no greetings
doomed to love’s
— goodbye
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Misfortune Contrives
It’s in fashion
to wear
your heart
on your sleeve
A French poet
alarmed
that love may
deceive
Bleeding a wound
that
misfortune
contrives
Alone
in deception
your love
— circumcised
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Epiphany Of Time
Once
you wrap
all existence
into this moment
You will
understand the
difference between life
— and its living
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Where hovering Moon touches field of ripened corn
Lone ragged tree contrives to fracture perfectness.
Heavens jostling myriads eager to witness how Moon
Responds to such deliberate and provocative arrogance.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Where the hovering Moon touches the field of ripened corn
A lone ragged tree contrives to fracture the perfectness.
Heavens jostling myriads are eager to witness how the Moon
Will respond to such deliberate and provocative arrogance.
Emoted investment
dividends high
Buying then selling
as spirit contrives
Unlimited resource
consciousness fares
In debits and credits
— whose riches ensnare
(Dreamsleep: October, 2024)
William Charles Lunalilo
First King, chose by the people
Grandnephew of the Great King, as the people vote, was unanimous
Next year, King Kamehameha the Sixth died of tuberculosis
Hawaiian marriages are coconuts
Apple's eye, orchard nigh--girls uppercuts
Bees concede and confess
Honey is not the best
Lunalilo stings in-laws -- blood and guts.
Pacific divides paradise from lies, pulpit denies, missionary connives, fleece, devise hoax, and shanghais,
The native's supplies for whalers, all dives. At times, pearls for wider eyes, command contrives to control their lives.
Kings II & III foresaw their greed, the lands were a need to wed and achieve access was their way to succeed,
Lunalilo was short-lived, the people he decreed, as past kings agreed, a land trust deed, 'ere his life concedes.
Seeds were sown on fertile soil while
SOME FELL upon STONEY GROUND
(This is a poem about one of the latter)
Oh affluent lady in smart design
Scurrying to Tim’s bar to taste of wine
But one and all can see beneath the paint
Scars that pay heed to a lost soul so taint.
Consumption foremost doth addle her mind
When desperate to track a daily grind
Eyes witness testament of her flurry
A lustful grin contrives her to hurry.
With a shaking hand crystal flute to raise
Each sup hallelujah in silent praise
An embarrassing glance though not a care
Her inner most pain bared for all to share.
Hastily she consumes her liquid meal
Her body pulsates unable to heal
A repetitive shot needed to please
No unsociable craving to be ease.
Silver Jag’s outside all bright and gleaming
She fights with the keys her body screaming
A need to be alone and get away
So she can measure the rest of the day.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
I've struck a snag after a long develops steps.
To a recent attitude over alliance depth,
I investigate this frightening atmosphere.
On top, winning expresses me insecure.
Because of my hearty assurance, I'm here today.
Divine grace has favored us for countless days.
I'm ailing back running with my unique mindset.
God, the Divine, contrives a chart for us, don't fret.
I can't travel to this area alone or by potent force.
It's all mercury; there's subtly nothing else sparse.
I'm defenseless to impact or succumb to anybody.
Every day, there is solely a requisite mission boldly.
But I'm evenly a pebble and embody no braw feeling.
Conception utterly lingers the power of God's crafting.
Despite our slightness, shapes harbor an awful misgiving.
In our style-driven culture, inner self-fosters are laying.
The fence of affection grows stouter as unfolding.
The Lord has appropriately arranged everything.
We are more poised than we reckon and form sound.
A wall that set us free, not the myriad way around.
Written: December 19, 2021
In I'd slide, then slid, into the id.
Inside, the thorny thicket ten feet high
buried behind my mind, where it has hid
arising around me, no way to get by.
In the throes of the hedgerow, the ego goes
a word warrior of literate gore.
Sits there, a moaning monster, as it grows
each foe that is fought, it brings on one more.
The volley of verses is too insane.
Self survives, then thrives as ego contrives
why is there no reason one can explain
to take on all comers, ending their cries.
That battle that we wage and want to win
if you do, you have slayed the you within.
I'm up to my eyeballs in tawdry disguises -
let women wear auras or no clothes at all!
Let men naked roam too! Dark skin, white, sans tattoo,
and the light of day see just what's bought and what's me!
Should my poems more suit you or dress down all sizes,
Conflate cows deemed sacred with pigs that appall?
Do metaphors obfuscate, or catch one napping -
do meter and rhyme feed or threaten belief?
Is a Lotus one drives, just a bloom one contrives
to take focus away from crass things one might say?
Is a plunging neckline more release or a trapping,
(gill net) for unschooled? There's allure, but no beef?
God's truth can't be mine though my head's a humdinger -
all-natural, unswollen, upstart in art!
I'm a retrograde poet, who feels more a butt
for colliding with free verse, that others traverse
as if skiing downhill. But for me, rhyme's the bringer
of what's in the pipe! My brain plays a bit part!
Brian Johnston
25th of June in 2020
waiting to retreat
enduring
then turning courage
in a
moment
of change
to bravery
no longer deceived
truth
replaces remorse
rooted
& blessed
by reason
riding the tide
across
the evening
into night
grief prevented
innocence deserted
the positive
rejoices
&bids farewell
estranged&
changed
survives
the revolt
uneasy sleeps
the lonely
loud
the sounds
of feelings
of alarm
in
default of loving
care
in the pursuit
of
pleasure
in the mirror
notice&belief
&discipline
quiet
elements
with gestures
of praise
to admire&observe
in wonder
designed to shield
&display
authority
in the temporal
&imbibe
the possible
secrete
the lovely
float
the concrete
into the valley
of self
to escape the threat
which beckons
in the
voice of passion
to invoke
lapsed glory
&its reward
dogma speaks aloud
concern
listens
contrives
to open
the seige ahead
with
a
tale
of joy
Are they waiting for me patient,
as I’m caught up in the game
Are they counting down the moments,
till I breathe my last refrain
Do they wonder why I dawdle,
with an opening so wide
Do excuses stoop to waddle,
as my tardiness contrives
Is that light beyond my tunnel,
to burn forever long
Is the torch that lights my funeral,
one to mark and count upon
What now keeps me in this moment,
as new paths have cleared away
Is it something that I haven’t said
—or wishes still to pray
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
She lies in slumber
pending release,
in Gaia’s womb.
Case of needles;
rutilated quartz,
hair of angels
contrives balance;
administrating pleasure and pain,
essence of yin and yang.
She blesses her own
with self-control,
willpower,
protection...
Mother Nature’s
anti-depressant
miracle;
strength of composition,
she is air and fire.
Throughout eons she contrives
to casting seeds and see what thrives
as she has done for countless lives.
Experimental.
Traveling through time and space
on cresting waves of light and grace
to be here in this time and place
of great potential.
By the trauma of rebirth,
and crashing on this spinning earth
to walk a path of woe and mirth.
Experiential.
To the beat of her own drum;
to laugh, and love, and overcome;
to act in ways both wise and dumb,
and unprovincial.
Tending to transplanted souls,
traversing over burning coals,
to wet her feet on earthly shoals.
Developmental.
Until her own angelic claque
blasts their trumpets ‘til they crack,
to guide her home; to call her back,
as transcendental.
Villanelle : Don't some live Life the way he or she wants it
Don't some live Life the way he or she wants it
Look around and see who lives resounding lives
If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it
Make both Yang and Yin agree to make things fit
Into the entire Scheme of Things which us drives
Won't some live Life the way he or she wants it
No playwright can banish conflict from his Script
He'd play to empty seats actors who mime lives
If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it
So Evil-Doers reign supreme to make it
The way the Play devolves on stage each scene contrives
Won't some live Life the way he or she wants it
Not to shift blame on either won't I judge it
Best to make Authorities live double lives
If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it
Doubt not why Evil-Doers always make it
Protected pardoned cherished Queen Bees in hives
Don't some live Life the way he or she wants it
If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
Are they waiting for me patient,
as I’m caught up in the game
Are they counting down the moments,
till I breathe my last refrain
Do they wonder why I dawdle,
with an opening so wide
Do excuses stoop to waddle,
as my tardiness contrives
Is that light beyond my tunnel,
to burn forever long
Is the torch that lights my funeral,
one to mark and count upon
What now keeps me in this moment,
as new paths have cleared away
Is it something that I haven’t said,
—or wishes still to pray
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
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