On the seashore, stretching endless,
There stands a lighthouse, a beacon of light.
Staying alone, it faces the roaring waves,
Guiding lost sailors and ships aright.
It often watches thundering breakers
It doesn’t command them to be still
Nor chase the brewing storms away
But sheds light poised on a rocky hill.
How many stories a lighthouse has to recount!
Stories of havoc, plunder and shipwreck,
Tales of escape from the fury of typhoons,
Of love and romance enacted on the deck.
Each lighthouse holds a mystical allure.
Broader at its base and narrower on its face,
It has a cylindrical and tapering shape
And stands as a sentinel with a piercing gaze.
In each one, there’s a lighthouse shining within
It guards us from all storms brewing inside
Shedding light along life’s murky tracks,
Leading us to coveted destinations like a guide.
The bright lights of the night's feathers...
The ointment of a cylindrical prayer is now - Spy aphorism...
My Siamese soul, caressed between a woman's fingers, a stained, fat racket...
In an announcement that no one hears, the old baker sells bodies. Fingers fall from behind every window, a clan cemetery at their tips
The sound of children dying on watery slopes, approaches me in .sandals. I collect my shadow from the strawberry garden.
I find peace in sleep. Young gloom remembers my traces on my feet.
With every opening of a black encyclopedia, I search for my plural face in the pages.
Balloons fill the sky. In the bottle I blow, the ocean breeze...
Someone sings lullabies and my eyes swing in the newborn's cradle.
I am the stillness inside of you, the poem unread
I am a wayward thought soaring on eagles wings
I am truth unparalleled both in fantasy and reality
I am a genuflect, a venerate moment on the heart
I am a composition of words and a silent phrase
I am benevolent and protective, also private
I am poetry itself filled with muscle and sinew
I am metaphorical with cylindrical happy returns
I am a sonneteer, lyricist, verse-maker and creed
I am also a soul birthing in formation, I am proud
to be who and what I am, a poem endowed...
Embrace the Day
Before manscaping with my hair trimmer,
my arm hair army wrapped further,
further around my cylindrical arms,
like wheat stalks before the harvest.
All atilt in a summertime wind
where the view of the soil has grown dim,
rustling above farmer-sized arms
swollen from trips to the local, town gym.
Some near black, some unwieldy, and some
white-paper white.
I’m short sleeved today, and
I’m feeling right, and freshly groomed.
My arms now swing freely on arcs,
and rise up to greet the sun.
It was a bitter winter,
which tamped my goodwill, I think, as I
embrace the day.
From morning's sunrise
to evening's sunset
through darkness of night
Until dawn breaks in East
to blueness of day
until sun fades it's light
O'er and o'er again
life rotates with earth
seasons - birds in flight
Kaleidoscope turns
color-fused patterns
changed moments with sight
Carousel spinning
hear musical sounds
aged and child delight
Colors and sound filters
within mind and heart
cylindrical might
Lifetime memories
revolving dawn to dusk
Past - present ignite
-Evelyn Pearl Anderson
ice can be sculpted
into an ax, a ring; shatter;
soap, a thumb pop;
used to keep water
and soda pop
chill and give the kids a reason
for sitting still.
ice can slide over the neck,
legs, arms - deliciously melt;
can make a kid laugh,
under his shirt.
Send the kid to the cooler
when the sun is concentrated,
glaring at us as if dusk
won’t come soon enough.
The ice chest, filled more precious
than gold, with more than one
cylindrical can. The opening
of the fireworks, celebrated
with the hiss of a coke.
ice ends up
in the sink,
signifies the fun
is over
and yet the cooler, the later
it gets, the hungrier
are the guests -
turned down food trucks
thus
we, I, forgot to feed them
and now they eat
corn dogs after midnight.
7/1/2023
Sunrise shimmering on your hair
Strands rise and wavy like mane of a mare
Soft and silky when stretched
Preened like feathers, not wretched
Hair cylindrical or long and blonde
Or tailed-black hair, straightened and tanned
Your scent till evening that sends affectionate waves
Pet I adore with perfectionate craves...
You are mine!
MEMORIES
From morning's sunrise
to evening's sunset
through darkness of night
Until dawn breaks in east
to blueness of day
and sun fades it's light
O'er and o'er again
life rotates with earth
seasons - birds in flight
Kaleidoscope turns
color-fused patterns
changed moments with sight
Carousel spinning
hear musical sounds
aged and child delight
Colors and sound filters
within mind and heart
cylindrical might
Lifetime memories
revolving dawn to dusk
past-present ignite
Evelyn Pearl Anderson
Nails are common fasteners in the carpentry trade
And for DIY enthusiasts, as well.
When considering the varieties of nails,
It’s a counter-intuitive fact that cut nails,
With their angular shafts and blunt tips,
Work better than drawn wire nails,
Which have cylindrical shafts and pointed tips.
The geometry of cut nails allows them
To be more firmly gripped by the wood fibers,
Anchoring them more securely than wire nails.
And because they align with the grain of the wood
They are less likely to split lumber than wire nails,
Especially if you’re hammering
Into hardwood near the edge.
Cut nails can also come in handy
When driving home a point.
If you’re working construction,
Cut nails prove better.
But yours are clearly drawn and sharp as carpet tacks.
They disjoin and incite and direct insurrection.
You’ve split the wood and lost your grip.
You, sir, are no master carpenter.
You’re not even an amateur handyman.
You’ve built a house divided hawking tribalism
For your own self-serving ends.
You’re nothing but a cheap carnival huckster,
A cowardly bushwhacker, not some clever rebel hacker.
Your trolling’s just a slacker’s brand of vandalism.
Pawn enters into the checkered
rooms of the cylindrical tube
sips serpentine cocktails, two
colours in a mirrored glass cube
Red dragon rose petals litter the
azurite crystal bar, violet flame
star light adorns the altar. Pawn
reflects but can't recall his name
Upon asking, his faint voice echoes
as hooves rap upon the spiral stair
On each red step sits a demon
writing up a contract to ensnare
Pawn accedes and bursts out in wicked rage
disengages from his act upon life's stage
A lasting nightmare of terrors so malign
forever at war within his demented paradigm
From morning's sunrise
to evening's sunset
through darkness of night
Until dawn breaks in East
to bluenss of day
until sun fades it's light
O'er and o'er again
life rotates with earth
seasons -- birds in flight
Kaleidoscope turns
color-fused patterns
changed moments with sight
Carousel spinning
hear musical sounds
aged and child delight
Colors and sound filters
within mind and heart
cylindrical might
Lifetime memories
revolving dawn to dusk
past -- present ignite
- Evelyn Pearl Anderson
Rocky trail
Fallen trees
Fresh scent of pine leaves
Scattered acorns
Wild blooms
Thundering sounds of a graceful brook
Brightly red
Cylindrical Snow flowers
Show-stoppers for enthusiastic hikers
Chirpy Jays
Traces of wild foxes
Immensity of rocky mainstays
Spring storm
Shivery gales
Sprays of tiny snowflakes
Wood bridge
Nimble stream
Magic of a mountain climb
Thoughts honed to a razor’s edge
The dictionary and thesaurus be my whetstones
Set atop my stalwart quadrupedal aide
Pulverized hemlocks be my stationary cohort
A hewn cedar be cylindrical partner in rhyme
A sooty viscous slurry be my workmate
The milky sap of the arborist companion be my reviser
Time; unlimited; to be committed to sonnetifcation
Mete by minute or by days…to precompose
To choreograph the mind’s breadth of complexity
To see the inferences…laid out; covertly or overtly
Upon reaching a draft of my pre-thoughts; spelt out
To reave the uncomplicatedness from each line
Leaving nothing unprinted upon the page.
Voids within the void and conduits within the central conduit
We keep refining sensibility with unwavering prayer resolute
The Sushumna is no doubt the central funnel
Throbbing with bliss, a divine enabled miracle
Yet this practice asks of us to visualise
That in time we may recognise
Cylindrical capillaries as carriageways of energy
Of divine electricity
Layered one inside the other
Finer & finer, subtler & subtler
Meditating thus on the imagined innermost channel
We go there and in innocence ask God for the miracle
Meaning that we vaporise and so be to become
As a bliss mist with the divine one
God being the way as also the means
This is the knowing from this practice we glean
18-August-2020
Gender rotation
Of polarities within
Rod of initiation
Is where we begin
Root to crown
A hollow conduit
Vaporise to drown
Devotion resolute
The magnetic pull
Ecstasy by friction
Explosive bliss full
Climax in continuation
The pulse indivisible
Yet concealing wonder
Sushumna cylindrical
Ignited by blissful thunder
Which aspect then male
Divine energy in form
Or is bliss essence female
As magnetism warm
Be that that is as it may be
Heart spacial androgynous
Aching love in joyous ennui
Rapture renewal continuous
01-August-2020
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