A flamboyant love with a beloved muse,
Transcendent and captivating, the spirit destined to confuse.
As time currents flow, the hearts ignite and swell with amour,
Unveiling words of enchantment leaf by leaf in a tome like an author.
Every encounter with your visage makes me run wild,
To a degree of delineating all the giddiness like I'm a child.
Behind the intense fervor lies heartache and profound scars,
A trapped soul desperately yearning to grasp with distant stars.
The unbearable ache of healing and moving on,
Flashbacks and memories haunting silent intervals from dusk till dawn.
Mixed feelings of confusion and regret,
With a shattered heart that forgives but never forgets.
A heart laid bare awaiting to be loved and healed,
Yet never allowing entry even if they appealed.
From the ruins of love emerge bittersweet endings,
Unlurking shadows of love that bring fleeting winnings.
Touching the soul to its bottomless core,
Leaving the heart in pieces, sore.
Listen quietly to the dripping water.
Hear it slow down drip by drip.
When it stops it means that the ground is in settled order. An overflow of water does not exist.
Now listen to the trees and the wind passing through them.
Hear their sounds like a choir of varied tones.
Concentrate to hear the birds all around us singing their songs of rejoice and delineating warning zones.
Now, come back here this time next year.
You’ll hear the water drip and the sounds of the trees.
But, the chorus of the bird song will be fainter just like the flowers that miss the bees.
Year on year we stare into nature. Year on year we promise what we will not give.
Soon the bird song will be sounded into history and life will be colder and duller to live.
" Definitions:
Delineating Means: Depicting or describing.
Deify Means: Adoration or exaltation for a beloved." - Oxford Dictionary -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Darling, desire dominates dearest dreams.
Daydreams discover deepest devotion.
Despite demonstrative dauntless dedication.
Decades didn’t dampen delicate delights.
Daylight dawned, dazzled by a daisy a day.
Doting directly drives desire to dance.
Determined to declare deify for my dearest.
Distinguished, debonair, dignified date.
Dress, diamond, Diocese, document, a destiny.
Delineating developing dependence divinely.
Deserving dedicated devotion darling.
Dissent divides, devotion defends, to dispel dire divisions.
Sharing
what we have in common or delineating our differences through the medium of wrought words communicates a compelling narrative -
Captivation of beauty,
passion of love,
kindness of heart,
joy of happiness,
tragedy of tears,
hope of healing,
wit of wisdom -
the grand gamut of human emotions wouldn’t be shared if not for the language and vocabulary of Poetry.
For generations, she has been the envy of nations large and small.
In lively colors, red, white, and blue, Old Glory waved at us all.
Like Miss Liberty, she stands erect, strong, and tall.
She has a giant's heart, but is not too big to fall.
I still pray the short prayer, "God bless America".
But more than ever before, I pray, "God save America".
She became great since her birth, but is now losing the race.
Many are rooting for her as she heads for home from third base.
But she has haters who despise and long for her demise; yet she survives.
Debating, delineating, and discussing are not enough to quell the assault.
If we cease to pray and trust in God, the seasoning will depart from her salt.
Dismissing God will make null and void all the battles that have been fought.
God must always be recognized as The First and The Last, The A and the Z.
Anything less, and we will surely be overcome and conquered by the beast.
042522PS
Songs are souls of immortal singers
Not only of years past...
Finding, building bridges of nowadays' cast
Who finds beauty that never lingers
Songs are everybody's serenade
Not only of one's soul mate...
Soothing, inspiring someone deserving an accolade
Played often when one is with the perfect mate
Sometimes, songs bear no meaning to me
Yet for some gloomy, songs are souls making them glee
Yes, songs are there to free their fear
Fear fueled by insecurity one wouldn't want to hear.
Songs are souls that make me strong
Like many others and the rest of the throng.
Songs are souls that witty poets painted as legacy
Delineating how reality differs from fantasy.
Upon internalising attention
The amplitude of oscillations slow
We sense an osmotic percolation
A fragrance divine, making our heart glow
As radiance of magnetism heightens
Combined with elixir of vibhuti
Our auric field, magically brightens
Essence of presence in serenity
Mind body vessel, becomes a temple
Our inner sentience blends in fusion
Aspect of oneness, shaped on the mantle
Bliss continuum orientation
Moment to moment, all moments entwined
Joy epitome, no meaning assigned
02-February-2021
tearing a black leaf
divine artist painted blue -
sun, clouds, cock and wheel
The Imaginative Lad
The blissful boy at the kitchen
table,delineating his Christmas list.
His Pomeranian puppy licking his cold,
growing, beautiful toes.
Hot chocolate ambiances and
wheat toast, zephyrs up his nose.
He is a prodigious child,with a
temperament, so marvelously mild.
Learning from grandmother to
write classic poetry.
"No one-liner poems from you,"
pronounced she.
"Use your heritage, our beautiful
English language!"
On Christmas Day, Grandmother
received a book of sonnets, which
he authored!
In a green velvet notebook with
a red satin ribbon outstanding upon it.
Grandmother had passed on the
glory of English!
For his Christmas,he was given books
of the Poetry Masters.
Wrapped in loving gold under the great
scented, Balsam tree.
He unwrapped them with joy.
Words to live with him.
For decades, ever after.
November 23, 2019
When I thought of the drawing
Suddenly, I heard some painting
I crave the draft, draught de kooning
Still is graining, still is graining
Long I stood there establishing, painting
I took the blank sheet of paper
My mind was racing
Grandeur, thoughts and flashes behind my eyes
My mind guides my hand
I secure the paper
I crave the draft, draught de kooning
Still is graining, still is graining
Suddenly, I heard the auctioneer yelling..
I'll give you 2 thousand dollars for this drawing
Still is graining, still is graining
Long I stood there establishing, painting
I had dreamed of canvases staining
It was pertaining
The developing draw delineating
All my soul within me withdrawing
The designing draftsmanship designing
Remembering many draft, enticing paintings
An echo murmured back the word, 'painting!'
For I the artist drawing, is now a painting that was sold for money
4/20/19
Silhouetted against a moon hung low, a lone wolf howls
Unmusical laments Mused-ly well up from the bowels
Of anxiety, restlessness, loneliness, excitement
Theory upon theory why he bellows his incitement...
He is become one of us
We see ourselves in his reflection...
Some would have him an unquenchable romantic
Others an emblem of devilish antics
Wildlife-righters say he's delineating territory
Or thwarting enemies from darkest purgatory...
Seek out his truth: Is he become one of us?
~ Our way we have lost in reflections superfluous
Busking for breakfast in Kabul
a puffed up dream idealology
haze delineating freedom
as mournful tunes offset tranquility
Crowds gather to gawk
sentimental shards of shrapnel
life left unguarded
wasted away
another fateful scene screams
"God punishes us for what we can't imagine."
Stephen King
What we can't imagine
is what we won't imagine
for lack of polypathic priority,
for too much fullness of rotting exegetical Promise.
What I won't imagine
becomes what I would never choose to invest in,
to nurture,
both filled with fear
of self-emptying prophecy
and overflowing with love
for Earth's other-fulfilling potentiality;
robust
resilient with or without us
regenerate
opposite of delineating pathology
through superego's anthro-absence.
We evolve healthy wealth becomings
truncated by static nonverbal then verbal ...isms,
unimaginably ebbing and flowing
what we have not yet hypostatically imagined dynamic,
ergodically patterned,
bionically rhythmed
creolically rocked
and matriarchal understory schism-rolled
rewards of and for Earth's echo imagining bicamerality,
sacred nondual ecology.
God's punishment
is for what we won't imagine,
multiculturally polypathic together.
They asked me to throw my life to the wind -
to not desire anything.
They said do not seek a better way to live.
We have provided the resources.
It is you that have to be proactive.
Defining the structure conformed,
a profile of people was done.
Being of mixed-blood,
these people were part of the strong hold.
Light by lantern and basin to wash-up in with
food on the table, but scarcity was seen.
Big families gathered during worship.
They were religious people and
their faith fortified them.
Some would sway when others would seek salvation.
But oh, the struggles that were present were great.
We would hear the pastor pray for God to provide us reinvigoration -
to extend his blessings to those needing persuasion.
Delineating the structure contradicted,
a profile was presented for the Lord’s forgiveness.
Being of unassailable cognizance,
here we are as true believers.
____________________________________________________________|
Written January 21, 2015!
Everyday
I am trapped in a dimension
Where only repetition exists,
That reoccurs the colour theme of black.
But the windows are very visible from the doom,
Delineating bright sunlight and pavement colour of the moon.
Best of all, I can see the birds flapping their mighty wings.
I unfold my arms with barely any strength,
And reach for them,
Hoping to become one of them.
Again.
Every night and morning when the outside of the windows,
Is beautifully shaded with calming grey that mellows.
And when it is painted in soft blended colour of thick orange and light yellow,
Birds fly between South and North through the colour of fallow.
I can tell very easily without effort,
Each of them holds great stories
Because I was like them once,
Who also held great stories.
Yes, I was one of those birds,
With pride and strength,
That glided through the treasure sites,
And enjoyed when the warm breeze kissed my cheeks
Over golden sparkling oceans.
But now my wings are broken,
Memories and valuables torn apart in ashes,
In to pieces that cannot be glued back.
So I always whisper to myself,
With solemn remorse,
I sure do miss those days.
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