SONNET FOR WINDS OF CHANGE
Cross cirrus sky swift brush strokes paint mares' tails
Tree tops are in restless susurration,
While cumbrous clouds traverse in vapour trails
Mead grass is fanned in wild undulation
Lake face whipped to agitated motion
Plumes roughed, wildfowl voyage with discretion
Gulls in-land tell of wild storms on ocean
All braced to face nature's bare aggression
When young I chose such rugged medium
Deplored the concept then of perfect peace
Such state suggested endless tedium
Hazard preferred to slow drawn out release
While I now sometimes seek respite from strife
I yet love winds that change, give breath to life
Categories:
cumbrous, life, nature,
Form: Sonnet
Harbingers of Hollow
In my habitual haunting hysteria
I digress to an abandoned area
Voids of dimming dissolving glow
The hermetic harbingers of hollow
Landscapes of secluded shadow
In cathedrals of cacophony grow
A salient soul spiritually spiraled
Within perpetual rags apparelled
My ambient apocalypse of night
Demons joy to my severed sight
Within my chaotic baneful bliss
The kaleidoscope of love I miss
Lost within my secluded shadows
Sleepless in my cumbrous clothes
Living the life of non-existence
Into the path of least resistance.
First submitted Sept.07.2017
Richie Sambora When a blind man cries
June.12.2018
Hollow
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Categories:
cumbrous, conflict, confusion, depression,
Form: Couplet
SONNET FOR A WINDY DAY
‘cross cirrus sky swift brush strokes paint mares' tails
O'er restless tree tops’ anxious susurration,
The cumbrous clouds traverse in vaporous trails
Below, grasses are fanned - wild undulation
Lake surface whipped to agitated motion
Wildfowl, plumes ruffled pilot with discretion
Gulls inland now tell angry storms on ocean
All braced and taught by nature's bare aggression
When young I grasped such fury in each medium
Deplored concept and sense of perfect peace
Such state seemed recipe for endless tedium
Chose hazard over slow drawn out release
Now sometimes yearning for respite from strife
I embrace and risk winds that give breath to life
Categories:
cumbrous, life, nature,
Form: Rhyme
Whoever claimed sorrow be blue
and crimson - rage would be
are not aware the darkened hues
that dwell inside of me
Sad - I'd paint in shades of gray
Ash scattered to the sea
Brown my chosen cast for rage
Deceitful eyes were these
Angst would be a mix of all,
no colors would it lack
Begins in psychedelic sprawl,
then quickly turns to black
The browns and grays I hold inside,
less cumbrous than they seem
Gazing toward a sunset sky,
revives the hope in me
Why, you ask, this silly game?
I do not fully know
but rightfully we all can name
the colors of our soul
Categories:
cumbrous,
Form: Rhyme
I feel a butterfly inside;
its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
the barred' cage is flung aside
and airy wings lift toward the skies.
I have felt this graceful creature
flutter faintly deep inside;
then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly
to show its colors multiplied
and wing its way through azure skies.
The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
the throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
no more its wings will tightly furl,
but lightly spread upon the breeze
their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
and, then, my soul will leave this world.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
Categories:
cumbrous, butterfly, death, freedom, metaphor,
Form: Lyric
It comes as something of surprise.
We need the broken figurines.
the malice we expressed,
the heart forever bound in cords
constricting its magnificence.
It seems
the pure, transcendant, holy orb
that shines above the saints
cannot be dealt with quite so well
as grief and pain of loss,
as ashes on our foreheads,
or the sacrament of penitence.
Chagirned though I may be
to prize the fragments packed away
in tissued boxes, just
to call upon until the years thin out
and memories themselves are jewels
I am beguiled by them,
and sifted through the fingers of my mind
these worthless shards
encased in dusty time
at last surcease their cries
for they are mine alone,
and in this pageant of the years, I find
that I need play no more
the cumbrous role of God.
~
Categories:
cumbrous, spiritual,
Form: Free verse
Whoever claimed sorrow be blue
and crimson - rage would be
are not aware the darkened hues
that dwell inside of me
Sad - I'd paint in shades of gray
Ash scattered to the sea
Brown my chosen cast for rage
Deceitful eyes were these
Angst would be a mix of all,
no colors would it lack
Begins in psychedelic sprawl,
then quickly turns to black
The browns and grays I hold inside,
less cumbrous than they seem
Gazing toward a sunset sky,
revives the hope in me
Why, you ask, this silly game?
I do not fully know
but rightfully we all can name
the colors of our soul
Categories:
cumbrous, art, me,
Form: Rhyme
I draw into the artificial womb
and travel from the day upon my breath
until dimension fades, a silent shift
occurs, and there is no more self to pad
the absolute, yet from the depth emerge
the wonders of an ambience that I
shall only know in full when breath is gone
and I slough off this cumbrous body for
a flight of some flirtacious fantasy
which I perceive is hovering, perhaps
in readiness beyond the mist.
Until that time I long to tell you more,
cannot, but to say that even this
is more than words or wonder will allow--
no god I ever met would try to speak
of it, nor lover of the truth reveal
that which I daily see-- and know, and feel.
What tumult lies within the thought that you,
the reader, may elect to come along
one golden day--or let it slip away!
~
Categories:
cumbrous, time,
Form: Free verse