Tympani, thy tyranny.
Prisoner of the noise:
Soulless is this symphony!
Deepen, O my ploys!
Tangled in an oak tree s roots?
Tide rushing in fast?
Succor, sailors? Little boots!
Life preserver, cast!
Where do pining poems go?
Carrion, feed thy crow.
All lost souls to heaven go?
Hell, thy rows to hoe.
Blessed are the blasphemers?
Not entirely, sir.
How the hungry tiger purrs!
Vision, now to blur!
Old diner, thy jukebox.
Play simple tunes for folk.
O Elysian fields, thy phlox.
Dinosaur egg, yolk.
But, in times of warning?
The panic bell is best.
Sweaters wool, thy darning.
Pirate treasure, thy chest.
Sorted out? Without a doubt.
World unfriendly, be.
Cursed demons, give a shout.
Sunken in the sea.
Hope, be with the poet!
Grant shelter to the bard!
Otherwise, you know it!
Fry deeply, O my lard...
("Fly Agaric", 2011, original oil)
’Tis almost the season to be jolly
Just around the corner
And before the snow falls
Before you know it
It’s time to gather the Yule logs
To help burn out the old
To bring in the new.
But what is this we see
Nestled in amongst the fallen needles
All brightly swollen, red and spotted white?
It is generous old St. Nick
In his dormant slumber
Waiting for the elves and reindeer
To wake him anew
For that one special night
When he slips the veil of consciousness
Up in smoke
Through the yurttle portal
And is everyone, everywhere.
At least everyone with the heart of Christ.
And so it goes across time and space.
Here in these immortal fields
Of grass and flowers or snow and ice
The fairies dance and children dream,
Cookies and milk
Set out in offering
For the one called fly agaric
All clothed in red and white,
A heart so pure
With New Year light.
(10/23/25)
I woke up this morning from a dream.
On the coffee table, I saw a magazine -
my father's Field and Stream,
and I remembered how he wanted to take me to a place
he went with his own father
in an earlier time and space,
to nature's rugged, wild Elysian fields,
where boys and men could bond,
like a page and knight with sword and shield.
So, he took me to the mountains, beautiful and free,
and I wanted to go there with him,
but my imprisoned eyes couldn't see.
My father's field and stream, you see,
was not a place, but a state of mind,
and I could not go there by decree.
I was not the kind of boy or man
my dad wanted me to be.
He didn't know what was obvious to me.
Between my mom, my brothers and I,
the verdict was decided,
"Entirely unfit", they would all decry.
I was unworthy, and I was weak,
I wasn't one of the Hardy boys,
and felt much more like a freak.
I wish that I could have joined you, Dad,
in those fields and streams,
to share together the experience you had,
and I am ready to join you in nature's high,
but it's too late for us.
You're in the Field and Streams of the sky.
my world at times
a maze of iron and stone
corridors where escape
is the longing within
your hand lights upon me
butterflies yield becoming doves
i no longer wish to surrender
emboldened by the amaranth you are
i am not alone
i am loved
i am cherished
in my life, you are the pillar
Samson could never move
you are that bird Emily spoke of
in the worst tempest, there is hope
as Neil said, you are too good to be true
but you are
walk with me on paths back
holding your healing hand
your voice a well of wholeness
the voyage from hell within
to the Elysian fields of heavens
life with you
such is my greatest blessing
the amaranth you are
Oregon 7/23
You can hear the echo of their laughter ringing through the halls of bliss
voices rippled soft as feathers, swiveling down on earth like this!
Airborne landings, joyful tickles, oh how innocent they are
in the cradle of God's Kingdom, always landing like a star.
Feel the rush of wind on your heart without rescind ,
as they flutter here and there doing as they please.
They are often slow to anger, jovial and complete,
and if you ever are in danger they can take a giant leap.
Sometimes, a wayward feather drops by unexpected time
perhaps it is your Angel saying, " its your time to shine !"
Sometimes, you can hear them giggle from Elysian fields of blue
where there are no storms or downpours, only heroes of the sun.
Sometimes, you can see their antics if your eyes are rinsed and pure,
you can be their brave crusader using laughter as the cure.
Voices rippled soft as feathers swiveling down on earth like this,
sometimes softer than a feather, arriving like a kiss.
THE ABYSS
The abyss...evokes and fuels Hades enthusiasm,
a deep or seemingly bottomless chasm.
A slope leads down into the dark abyss,
and their delinquent prayers rendered amiss.
It's not just a wide or profound difference
between people; a gulf or a huge fence,
the abyss between these two nations;
Earth & Hell are never saintly expeditions.
The Abyss...
The popular home of a great but fallen Legion.
The music of wailing echoes from this region,
the regions of hell conceived the bottomless pit.
There, damnation has taken a lifetime seat.
But we will rave in the defeat of darkness,
Infernal abysses do not frighten us,
nor the blazes of thunder & fiery flames.
Who will miss their reservations;
in The Elysian Fields, the final resting place,
a home of heroic souls and the virtuous,
a land of perfect happiness at Earth's end,
on the banks of the Oceanus, there we're forever blessed.
But the abyss...
Sinking sin stinkers simmeringly sink into hell,
faces fried-up & fearfully frozen they fell,
as Lucifer summons them deep into the abyss,
denying them, forever, the joy of heaven's bliss.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©? April 2023.
"Death is like an inevitable leap into the unknown. But we are sure to land in a state eternal either to be blessed or cursed" By poet
With the suddenness of a locomotive
that has come to an abrupt halt,
he fell motionless and in a coffin lay.
like –
all mystery sealed in a jar.
all agony compressed,
in a tremulous whimper.
all charms shut in an amulet.
amid,
the scent of burning incense,
frozen silence,
heaving hearts
and
silent prayers.
the chariot wheeled him along
in his last journey
through the mazy paths,
stretching, stretching endless
to a world,
beyond all galaxies.
to the Elysian Fields-
to a time, immeasurable
to abiding infinity,
to inconceivable eternity!!
March. 7. 2023
Re entered for Brian's Contest
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘J’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
After The Storm
Night falls harshly and the door sharply slams
on all happiness and each hopeful thought
Left with insincere smiles and a million scams
A blunt, cruel harshness is now my lot
At dawn I awake as angry gusts surge
They lurch into gales, harsh storms hades sent
Bronze, yellow, and crimson leaves soar and merge
Soaring, swirling down to rain-pelted cement
Afternoon enters cloudless, balmy and bright
Soft breezes fleet by in wafts gentle and warm
Now rising, now falling, and buoyant and light
In Elysian Fields I settle after the storm
The tumult of anguish and bitter despair
break away and drift off this glorious night
There’s a feel of pending joy in the air
as the door flings open and lets in the light
Quatrains
Written 8/22/22
Unto Acheron, great river of woe,
the buried to the entrance gate are led,
in the underworld to Charon below
to ferry across the souls of the dead.
Upon your lips, your eyes, a coin receive,
a fare lest you be trapped between two worlds -
allowed to enter but never to leave
where the waters of oblivion purls.
Where Furies dwell and Hellhounds guards the gate
and souls are judged in Hades’s deathless reign -
to wander the Styx and Lethe in wait
till rulers of gods and men part us twain.
The Pit of Tartarus where the soul yields
or sweet blissful isles of Elysian Fields.
Written: May 2012
yearning
of ritual
lethargic
in thunderstorm
through
huge chasm
of window&
watching
sky
darkened &
drizzle
dropping &
gust
howling
non-stop
yet stipulating
coldness
within
intimacy&
a glimpse
charming
longing
for flowers
blooming
rooting in
womb
relishing
drafting
sun and moon
elysian fields
of yesteryear
& blue oceans
crave
scooting
&
alleging
obsession
musings
notification
compelling
1St place contest winner
Written: August 1st, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Running, running, as fast as I can
I couldn't catch you, you slipped right though my hands.
Like how an hourglass fails to stop the sand from falling,
I couldn't stop you from leaving in the end.
Sand trickles by through permeable shields
Not being able to stop our time from running out.
Falling far from what felt like Elysian Fields,
Making me realize that perhaps all sweet fruit that this Earth can yield,
Are nothing but honey laced with hemlock to be poured through the ear.
I'm still running, running, as fast as I can.
Towards what now? I'm not sure I understand.
Just one foot and then the next.
Whispers of warning does Orpheus howl in my ear,
"Don't look back, for there is nothing left for you here,
Just keep moving, and the pain will be easier to bear."
Starting to plead with myself not to turn around like he couldn't stand,
Learn from his mistake and resist the temptation when I can.
I stand in the swamp by the riverbank
clutching a coin I have stolen
as my heart still beats within my breast
It is only my spirit
that has slipped away
to await the ferryman of Acheron
Charon who
skillfully pilots his skiff
from there to where it flows
into Styx
He arrives and I pay the price
He places the coin in his pocket
and grabs hold of the pole
pushing away from the shore
as I lay indolent with lament
in the bottom of the boat
the icy chill of the water
seeping through the wood
Shivering I stare at the stars
silently weeping
remembering the many wishes
I made on them that went unrealized
unheard
for the Gods must have
found me unworthy
Cerberus will step aside to admit me
heads snarling
as the snakes on his back writhe
Hades will welcome me
Or he may hand me over
to be judged by Aeacus
and plunged into the pit of Tartarus
for my many sins
to be tortured for eternity
starved and beaten
my liver eaten by birds
May he have mercy on me
this sorrowful lost soul
for all I ever wanted
was to dance
carefree and content
to the music of miracles
in the golden flower filled
Elysian Fields forever
with you
I listen to the sighing
of the wind, as I sit
in the cool shade
of a sprawling carob tree,
wondering if Basho,
in heavenly abode,
next to Elysian Fields,
is mumbling agitatedly
under his breath – possibly
grimaces, wrings his hands
as he flips the pages of
vain anthologies where
writers sell their wares…
Stuck in comfort zone
deprived of achievement,
wary of new horizons,
surprise ends and twists…
they cling to restrictions
and Mother Nature’s skirt.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
© 24th August 2020
Styx
by Michael R. Burch
Black waters, deep and dark and still:
all men have passed this way, or will.
NOTE: According to ancient Greek mythology, the Styx was the River of Death. The dead would pay Charon, the ferryman of Hades, a fare to carry them across the Styx to their eternal destination. (Hades was not "hell" as it was improperly translated in the King James Bible. Hades had heavenly regions, such as the Elysian Fields and the Blessed Isles.) The fee was normally an obolus or danake. The Greeks would place the coins in the mouths of the dead, but over time the custom would become placing coins, usually pennies, on the eyes of the dead.
"Uncircumnavigated"
Just Around the Corner ...
How did you write
your way
into my story?
A Wolf
and
a Fox
Blitzkrieg.
The rompers
romp in…
This is unprecedented, unwanted,
Silence is Golden
I walk to the beach
and back breathless
cool
you;
me,
debating always debating
internal
within
the uncircumnavigated tracks,
feral white rabbit
marks his mark
Clocks His time
in
Time
the city skyline,
recalcitrant, shading, delicious
Light in Dark Night
winks back
ridiculously knowing
winks back
How did you write
your way
into my story?
When I had already written
keys and locks into
the Chinese Puzzle Box
locked
locked
locked
and then,
unheralded
inconsequential
YOU
bourgeois
gauche calculating intellect
breeze in…
Hornet bites
honey bee
Gold
dribbling
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2019)
"When" / Elysian Fields
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