Craftily Poems

Fantasies

Peerless paintings mystically mingle.
Bells of my shrines rhythmically jingle.
Hues of heaven and earth amalgamate.
Logic and love lawlessly agitate.

I see Morpheus moving around my mind.
Celestial scenes are craftily designed.
With wings of poppies Minerva hovers.
Saraswati showers seamless powers.

Monsoons recover all drought-driven cracks.
Nightmares consummate with sweet-dream climax.
Ripples, in the lake of my mind, stir on.
Blissfully, myriad rainbows are drawn.

Imagination

Peerless paintings mystically mingle.
Hues of heaven and earth amalgamate.
Bells of my inner shrine jingle.
Logic and love lawlessly agitate.

I see Morpheus moving around my mind.
With wings of poppies Minerva hovers.
Celestial scenes are craftily designed.
Saraswati showers seamless powers.

Monsoons recover all drought-driven cracks.
Flora and fauna fill the nude deserts.
Nightmares consummate with sweet-dream climax
Prey, with their predators, fervently flirts.

Ripples, in the lake of my mind, stir on.
Blissfully, myriad rainbows are drawn.

Rematch Tomorrow 8AM

The day passes, an idle hitchhiker,
Thumb half-heartedly protruding
A posture half begging, half daring
Go ahead… seize the day

Good luck with that challenge
For daylight slips through the fingers
Craftily dodges with shadowy stealth
All attempts to control it, confine it

A few minutes in a crowded Starbucks
A cold compress of iced coffee
A mindless “atta boy, go get ‘em”
From a high school drop-out Barrister

Another “rope-a-dope” meeting
Stay on your feet, they’ll stop talking soon
How did it come to this
You were once a contender

Another ten round draw
Everyone seems happy
You didn’t embarrass anyone
Rematch tomorrow...8AM

Clever Cuckoo’s Crazy Caper

Cunning cuckoo, craftily creeping,
Cackling, cawing, constantly cheating!
Clocks keep clanging, chiming, churning,
Cuckoo’s call--chaotic, concerning!

Cranky critters, clueless, confused,
Chased the cheater--cleverly bruised!
Cuckoo, chuckling, cheekily flew,
Claiming nests like cuckoos do!

Wouldn’t trust that cuckoo chap--
Crafty con artist with a claptrap trap!

Euphony

As well sounding as that word may seem
It may with a different sharper  inflection
Conjure up a  whole brand new meme
Craftily  constructed in its production
To totally eclipse the Republican dream.
Slate Trump as "You phoney" in Walz's prediction

Lilac Lagoon

Sprawling aspiration 
effervescent incandescence 
spreads psychic plasma
of primal spectrum 
painting passion 
on the silken sky
the configured
fascinated facsimile
of mental panorama
suffused with chromatic 
sublime sensitivity  
of exuberant ecstasy 
blooming in
seraphic color blast
of floral spring  

Parched pieces
draped by distress dust 
of cinnamon ground 
heart desiccates 
to the core 
auburn anguish
pervading passive
creeps craftily
in the wilted veins 
of the fallen leaves
fragile essence
rustles restive
with emerald tune
of serenading sanguinity  

Emotive eyes weep 
concealed tears 
in torment torrent
fill the cauldron 
of pent up pathos 
forlorn life’s 
desolate distillate
designs crystalline
verdance shining  
in the jade thicket 
on the eroded banks 
of awareness 
as symphonic cadence  
of fervent zephyr 
drifting with sonata
of fleeting fervor 
from yonder plateau 
of yearning
pulsates timeless
with waves of rhapsody 
in the bay of bliss
glides with the melody
of harmonic heart 
with the ripples 
of lilac lagoon

Ego

true feelings 
concealed craftily
beneath the sheath 
of saccharine psyche 

fragile fantasy 
of self sanguinity 
fostered
by colors 
of chameleon skin

spurious emotions
sprawl surreptitious
pretentiously 
paraded skillfully
away from 
edge of reason
epitomize deftly 
camouflaged ego

Apple Picking

APPLE PICKING 

“Adam, are you hungry?” 

Asked Eve, seductively. 

“There’s a lovely juicy apple 

On a low branch of that tree.” 

 

“I must confess I’m peckish,” 

Said Adam longingly.  

“But God said that it doesn’t 

Belong to you or me.” 

 

“There’s on-one here to see us,” 

Eve answered, craftily. 

“Except for that old serpent 

And he said it was free.” 

 

“I’m still not sure,” said Adam. 

What if God should see? 

“He’d evict us from the garden 

And then where would we be?” 

 

But Eve could be persuasive, 

As women tend to be. 

And so they shared the apple 

And the rest is history.

Springtime In Salem

Flying on an easterly wind
Over Atlantic waters, ever thinned
A village comes back into view
Eerily draped in a season anew

Hanging now with purple wisteria 
Not accusations, not hysteria, 
Is old Salem town, lush and green
Beyond, a cemetery lies, a reverent scene

Dark houses, by cherry blossoms framed
Brighten a place once so shamed,
By masking her greatest tragedy
With pink floral beauty, craftily

Quiet streets, an all too familiar pitch
As I wander, her picket fences bewitch,
And up on Gallows Hill, a site so tragic
Finds her peace in springtime magic.

Who Am I

The past is not deprived of its events
resting in the bosom of bygone valley,
carved in rigid love craftily decent
like the gulp graciously landing at sea port of belly.
 
While the future eludes not the belle
with whom it has had memoir in hallucination
of seducing hands, tender in caressing its belly
for commensurate rewards in anticipation.
 
Meanwhile, I’m like a hand of time
progressively sitting in the middle
of the counted and uncounted mines.
Maverick confronted with seasoned dribble.
 
When will I stop my heels from accelerating in cycle?
The weary marathon is recycled
such that it leaves considerable intervals yet to be circled,
even though I always thread forward in retrogressive circle.
 
No counting is of the old
till I grow old in the cold.
Shrouded in a coat as I repeatedly quote
‘Who Am I?’

Sentimentality

True feelings concealed craftily
beneath the saccharine sheathe,
toxic fantasy of self items fostered
by the colors of chameleon skin.

Sprawling spurious emotions,
pretentiously paraded skillfully,
away from the edge of reason,
epitomize the camouflaged ego.

____________

May 29, 2022
Contest : Sentimentality
Sponsored by : Julia Ward

They Sip Soul's Ambrosia

In the desolate domain of eerie milieu 
under the ebony opaque sky, 
on the murky hideous landscape 
the nocturnal creatures prowl and try
to stalk those who can’t see 
the nightriders slither in the sly 
from the sinister forlornness of the wild, 
the unwary they craftily descry.

With the arcane acumen concealed 
as ominous feral creatures they lurk,
like sordid silhouettes of evil menace 
they stealthily sneak in the dark	
into the quintessence of your life, 
crumbling it down going berserk, 
they sip from the chalice of night 
your soul’s ambrosia in darkness stark.

__________________

January 21, 2022
Contest : The Chalice Of Night
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke

The Fly

Six legs, a pair of wings,
a million eyes,
an insect malign.
See,
there it rests upon my naked knee,
its proboscis pumping,
sucking up my precious blood,
and spreading a thousand micro-organisms
that feed upon our fair and sunny isle.
How I loathe and detest your very sight.
There you are,
     flying around,
          hovering
                 landing,
                      tickling,
                          teasing.
A slap,
but craftily you fly away.
Once such a slap had found its mark,
and Blake saw
life's uselessness
without the reassuring force of worthwhile thought.
A brush and your ancestor died.
Oh, would that fate befall you too,
that you would die,
so I'll find peace...
and calm.
 
 
Note: The reference to Blake is another poem by the same name, naturally much better than mine, written by William Blake, English poet and published in 1794 in a book entitled "Songs of Experience".

Little Krishna

Oh little Krishna! 

My ink sprinkles in hues of devout love
as your glory I pen in reverence

My eyes forget to blink: spellbound
Oh! the sparkle in those little lotus eyes

My mind's music magically blooms
and sings in praise - your beauty and grace
as your mor mukut gently moves
when tiny legs dance in glee

Do You know... 
the soul of silence seeks to remain silent
and merge with your pure divine self:
Is it a stillness so craftily created
to respond to thy call of Divine Bliss? 
Or is it a crave to melt in your mellifluous music
as your flute tune wafts in soft wind? 

A moment when 
the steps of time will slow and stop:
just for a moment
and the entire universe will gaze in awe
entranced by its enchantment... 

Oh my little Krishna...


Date: 08/30/2021
Your Favorite August 2021 Poem - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France

Note:
Mor mukut is the peacock feather crown that adorns Lord Krishna's head.

They Sip the Soul

In the desolate domain of eerie milieu under the ebony sky 
on the murky ground the nocturnal animals prowl around, 
stalking those who can’t see the nightriders slither in the sly 
from the creepy wild, the unsuspecting they craftily hound.

With the arcane acumen of sinister feral creatures they lurk,
like sordid silhouettes of evil menace they stealthily sneak 	
into the quintessence of your life crumbling down berserk, 
as they sip the seraphic ambrosia of your soul they seek.

October 29,2020
Rhyme checked on Rhymezone
Contest : 8 Lines Of Spooky Rhyme
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
August 18, 2021
Brian Strand's Contest : A Brian Strand Rime

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