Deepened Poems

The Silent Kiss

In silhouette of fervor hovering
 That meanders vivid upon the night
The hum of music from so long ago 
   Romances the air... a twirl, a lyric
While tunes of mist stir of rhapsody
       Along the harbor to fling and gently play,
A rhythm of craving beats, as lips intone
 love's  silent quiver, still as secret whisper;
From this earnest heart deepened by time
When dulcet songs of wind now fondle 
Breaths' charmed trails gushing on- and on--
       And words become an impassioned call
 Deepening my hymnal interludes; 
As our mellow kiss jangles like chime of bells 
Slithering  like a windblown mantra
        ....Luring my beloved at sea to come home.

Venus

I met Venus in Brockwell Park,
the air was calm, sweet as prophecy.
A book lay in my hand—
The Hammer of Witches.

She passed, her voice a soft enchantment:
“That book looks interesting—what is its name?”
I placed it in her hands.
Her eyes lingered. Intriguing…

We sat beneath the English Oak.
She asked if I believed in witchcraft.
I smiled—I read mysteries,
because reality hides there.
Her lips curved—then maybe I am a witch too.
We both laughed, shadows dancing.

Then her voice lowered:
If I tell you who I am,
perhaps you will run.
She whispered—I am Venus.
Born of Uranus, from Saturn’s blade.

Her words carved the air with sorrow.
Yet when I met her gaze,
our souls remembered.
I told her, I am Apollo,
the god of light and music.

Silence deepened—
our eyes locked, and worlds collapsed.
No flesh, only mind,
a burning union of ancient fire.

We flew through the sky of the soul,
witch and god entwined.
And when the vision ended,
only one truth remained:

When you see Venus,
you will see Apollo—
for in the end, we are one flame,
forever burning in exile.

Beneath Up

A broken Branch beneath, laid in lies then repeats.
Skipped on lakes of tears deepened by defeat.

A broken Branch beneath, connection and silence,
between resigned or violence,
between being conscious... or dying.

Footprint stalking all this way, following.

Enough water to drown, 
enough water to cover-up,
enough water if all alone in the middle with you in it.

Stare until no bubbles, bubble up.
Take the body up and out the tub.

Never Returned

I thought it was love, but I guess I was blind,
You just played pretend and toyed with my mind.
I gave you my heart, my soul, every year.
Returned was your silence, your distance, and your love never here.

I thought maybe one day you’d love me the same-how foolish to know 
I was your puppet on a string.
The harder I tried, the more I gave,
The deeper my heart got swept under the wave.

I built us a future and dreamed you’d be there.
But you never showed up, I looked for you everywhere.
Your love never deepened, it stayed cold and thin,
While I wore my heart raw, bleeding under my skin.

You stayed the same, while I broke and burned,
And all that I offered was never returned.

I gave you it all, every tear, every touch-
But you never once loved me, not even half as much.

I know now what I finally must do.
To love me much more and stop trying to  love you.

Aching Need

I Surrender to The Desires of Primal Fire
Penning Words That Have not Yet Been Created
Shuddered By Mocked Phantom Elevations
Rendered Unsated!

Deepened Sense of Tangled Feelings
The Weight of My Dignity
Naked Vulnerabilities Inked
Beyond Intoxicating.

Unyielding Control Demolished by a Dreamy Kiss
Promised Passion Blooms and Ignites
Radiating Fantasized Hope
Breaking Barriers of Destined Bliss!

Strings of the Heart

By Khomotso Makitla

Wormholes start small — slow, but sure, they expand.
The magnetic field of your eyes, your smile, your laughter,
Attracts and does not repel — why fight what the heart desires?
The void between us deepened, and now you’re out of reach.

I whisper alone to the stars, hoping they’ll reply.
I reach to the skies, for I know you are a star.
Wishing you could wander through my thoughts —
Navigate my veins with grace, for your touch now stirs my heart.

Be gentle with matters of the heart —
Like the human mind, it has been deceived too often.
Made to believe, only to fall into disbelief.
But trust again — let your heart remember how to love.

Strings of the heart are made of love.
Let the instrument of love lead the way.

Love with Wild Abandon

"Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused. — Paulo Coelho


When first I'd peered into his dark brooding eyes
there was an undercurrent, fathoms deep pulling me in.
A storm brewed inside of me and each time we met
I submitted to my desires and he to his, without regret.
To have denied it would have destroyed us.

He was never mine for the taking
but it was only for him that my heart ached.
We shared a passion, unrestrained— untamed.
We loved with wild abandon.

There was lightning between us.
Thunder roared in my head with each deepened kiss.
I heard it in his breathless sighs—  
felt it when his fingertips danced across my skin. 
It was a serenade of lovers that we sang together
as if each time was a renewal, an awakening of Spring.

Time rushed in months—years spilled in an hourglass.
The feast is still as sweet, the passion as strong.
We'll not be deprived the love we savor with wild abandon
nor the silent whispers to each other's hearts.

An intellectual dresses a simple idea in the cloak of heavy and elaborate words

An intellectual dresses a simple idea in the cloak of heavy and elaborate words,
Building castles from long, intricate sentences that rise toward the sky,
While the poet, with eyes deepened in the mystery of the world, opens doors to truth,
He takes the complexity of life and transforms it into a song of wind and light,
Love becomes the flight of a butterfly, and pain a late autumn rain,
In an uninterrupted flow of thoughts, where words dance freely,
Poetry does not fear simplicity, for within it lies the depth of the world,
Touching hearts through a metaphor that shines brighter than a speech.
In the silence of the night, the verses find their echo in the souls of those who listen,
The poet embraces mystery, turning it into a palpable truth,
While the intellectual sometimes gets lost in the maze of complicated reasoning,
Yet in both flows the same desire to understand the universe around,
To find hidden beauty in details, meaning in every flicker of time.
Words, be they heavy or light, always seek their place in open hearts,
Where truth can be whispered or shouted in mountain echoes,
And thus, in the simplicity of verse, we find ourselves, without limits.

The Mourning Womb

My daughter Louisiana 
where did it go wrong ?
Why have you become so greedy 
Greedy that you feed on your own offsprings
Intoxicated by drinking the blood of your own children 
Your sister’s wombs are cracking with terror 
Because of what you do to their children
 
Isn’t America the peace maker a woman who every man admires her enchanting beauty 
Your breast feeds the young and old the rich and poor 
But why are the sons of California neglected their tear have created rivers  
Their wounds have deepened to form valleys,
their scars sing the song of survival and seek revenge 
My deaf ears hear cries from thousands miles away 
And my womb mourns day and night and my heart is drained by the weep
Those with expensive shoes on their feet flee 
the bear footed are left behind 
Peace be upon the sons and daughters of Louisiana.

From darkness to light

Truth’s metaphor bemused and confused lost ones,
trapped as yet in labours of thought forms conjured,
thereby failing to cognise flickers in space …
   revealing God’s light.

Breath by breath thus, feeling not God’s magnetism,
living by instinct, higher centres dormant,
darkness deepened, engulfing bleeding aura …
   ego blamed on fate.

Love’s touch tender stirred the soul, freezing thought flow,
causing ego to recede, enlivening
heart, whence divine bliss mists rose, transmuting form …
   into living light.

Light Of God Reigns

When gray waters of June moan…one last time
Near the dimming edge of our isle, offshore--
How  so many stars tremble quite sublime
For this clutch of demise gushes its pour.

Near the dimming edge of our isle, offshore
I summon the fighter in me… Wake   wake!
For this clutch of demise gushes its pour-
To ignite kiln of hope ‘s flame , and not quake.

I summon the fighter in me … Wake  wake!
As courage prevails nudging my bruised soul…
To ignite kiln of hope’s flame , and not quake,
Entombing young brother… down in the knoll.

As courage prevails, nudging my bruised soul,
The deepened cry of goodbye washes the day
Entombing young brother… down in the knoll,
Yet God's light reigns, my angst ebbing away.

The deepened cry of goodbye washes the day...
How so many stars tremble quite sublime
Yet God's light reigns, my angst ebbing away--  
When gray waters of June moan…one last time.

THE ANSWER TO MY PRAYERS

When first we met, love at first sight
I thought of you as nothing more  
Than someone I could hold at night
To love, to cherish evermore.  

But as affections, like rivers, flowed
And deepened with each passing moment
I found in you not just a hand to hold  
But a place of peace where I could hide.  

You are my paradise of peace
The answer to my whispered prayers
The fruit of fasting, quiet supplications 
And those moments of reverence.

Now, what is left for me to do  
But devote my life to worship you
My peace paradise.

RECITISTA part 1

RECITATISTA part 1
 
an act of enunciatiion
its suggestiveness
flexible
expressive
& voices
of voluptuous
intonation

of thinking
 deepened
 in dramatic
  reflection

of acquaintance
 to
in a
 series
of vocal harmonies

listen hear
sans distraction –
 vowels consonants
without
  punctuation
the
stanza
cadence-shaped

encountered
an absorption
  of spelling

&arrangements
 pace
with gaps
enjambed
 & irony
in
such
 happenings
makes
 for variety
as whispers
  the element
    in which
 conceived
 interposing
 anew

Dusk, In Winter

The sky becomes a deepened blue,
like army coats of yore,
clings to the trees atop the hills,
settles on valley floor.

The sun is gone but dim lingers
upon the rolling fields,
they seem endless done up in dark,
with secrets unrevealed.

The snow glows, just three inches deep,
reflects the rising moon,
some bits of grass still reach above,
but they’ll be buried soon.

The corn stubble is taller yet,
gives all a mottled look,
brown on white, in the morning times
it’s overrun with rooks.

A deep is picking though it now,
a yearling, and a doe,
I see its silent stride and I
wonder where it will go?

Probably to the hill just west,
beyond which is the town,
it’s rocky there, with thick forest,
a good place to bed down.

My foot crunches on crusted snow,
the winds have made their mark,
they’re predicting a storm next week,
so this is just the start.

Head home, passing the darkened barn,
with animals sleep,
I will be out in morning’s chill,
giving them hay to eat.

It’s not the nicest time to farm,
nut this job never stops,
at least the skiers will be glad
the temperature has dropped.

The Sky

The whole sky is white
  No blueness is showing
  Snowflakes are falling
  Spreading to the ground

  Bare trees are coated
  With the warmth of snow
  Bushes are covered
  With patches of snow
  
  The Evergreen trees 
  Decorated wit  whiteness
  The wooden fences
  Look brighter with snow

  Sidewalks are deepened 
  As the snow falling
  The streets packed with snow
  Time for the snow plough

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