At dawn, when the sky smiles...
I bow, pray at length to seek.
If true, as God would have me;
At it, my swiftness should awake hope.
Where there seems none, my styles...
Possibly without remorse, though weak;
Cum certainty of what to be, such sea-
I swim through its boundless spell, off rope.
At noon, when the sky frown,
I race, hustle all seasons long...
If no, as fate could file my case;
Of time, my faith would halt war.
Why not give up, such stage me clown.
This won't be of tease, while still young...
Rather shall keep up, cum His grace-
Until I feel relieved; ease storm, offshore.
At night, while the sky beams...
I write, encode and decode my day;
If sure, lessons learnt propels thought.
For real, it engulf my mind's box
Through the night; many are dreams-
Of peace and war, fear and courage; gay...
Will I ever have to myself, what I sought?
Cum lot where lies mirthful stories, off clocks...
We’re alive and aglow, so all should be well
but perchance if we begin to feel withdrawn,
as feelings of melancholy in heart swell,
a shroud of depression, darkening the dawn,
making us gloomy, life then a living hell,
know wistful soul exhumes darkness with a yawn,
nonchalantly choosing to sing a love hymn,
thereby averting possible outcomes grim.
Innate vibrancy of soul, our mood and mode,
employs will for polarity rotation,
stagnating nowhere, for joy is it’s abode
and each vibration is but a play station,
so once love and light, within heart we encode,
moment to moment, we’re in meditation,
unaffected by the highs and lows of life,
empty like vast space and at all times bliss rife.
23-May-2023
__________
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
My poem I want to write
and encode what is going inside
My poem I want it to rhyme
a soothing melody and not a mime
When I come to my poem's harmony
the words are manipulated artfully
How could mind and heart consent
when the raw in them wouldn’t be vent
I have those syllables to count
the substance I have to take into account
I long to always create a beauty
a piece that bears a great part of me
A great heed of my poesy I take
to pen what is genuine and not fake
A stand I now believe in and share
with poets of true feelings and flair
I learnt how to read and appreciate
and what I don’t feel not to comment
I didn’t work on the form of my musing
but I couldn’t help compose the music
My poem to you I paint its words
a sample for you, my heart chords.
March 29th, 2019
She jumped the cables of this earth and landed on their stratosphere
not much was interlocked inside that interstated space except a high
the coded silence telegraphed in tetrotonic voice was plugged in near
twas' all she heard... computer telepathic knots and sounds of nigh
She had been in an MRI machine and she was saturated in their vibercy
she was a conduit to their human questionaire and viaduct's enscry
pitching her a high pitch sound they pierced the quiet longtitude of chi
then rocked her world with their achromatic lense and telescopic pry
They asked for her binary code dumbfounded and in lack she kept to mute
for it was long ago and way back when the numbers of her match encode
imprinted on the fascmile of mind's extole. Adrift in the sky with no refute
she glided on and found that life is different when your not a metal node
She was sent back to earth with a mind erase and a pencil thin memory
and it was so that when they came to find her many years from then
the only thing that she recalled was the momentary freedom's history
twas' all she knew... that once upon a time she was coded in their glen.
The End.
October 20, 2018
Wars in my mind
Rain strains and pains of a cruel kind
In circumstances I suspect
Tear promised prospects in every respect.
Wars in my heart
Tear my trust system apart
When blues bathe my trust
In seas and rivers of russet rust in a crimson crust.
Wars in my society
Signify sorrow sown by loss of piety
Bathed in wintry waters
Diffused and contused in my quivering quarters.
Wars in my morals
Defy etiquette stuck on mortals
Whose desires diversify and crucify moral codes
Society neither encodes nor decodes.
— Лу, Ты хорошо
говоришь по-русски? — Нет,
плохо, Иренa.
Russian-to-English translation:
"Lou, do you speak Russian well?" "No, poorly, Irena."
Literally:
"Lou, you well
speak (in) Russian?" "No,
poorly, Irena."
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Forge writes that fling pulse that appeal,
Thought ever springs constructs you feel.
Tale from mere vines as words congest,
Savvy crafts lines that sparkles fest.
From here to there and then some more,
Seek twisted fare in shades and shores.
Hints gather tints in colours cheer,
Vivid the mint where strains endear.
Fund passage bold with crafty say,
Page now unfold such slightly sway.
Encode the feel of lost charades,
In time find will in lines you trade.
Unleash the glow of words that come,
Surge, urge and flow prime how feel sums.
Cite if you must the path words swirl,
Soul lives a trust in this rough world.
Confer with time where space allows,
Poignant sounds rhyme with sweat of brow.
Leon Enriquez
28 March 2016
Singapore
Atlas,
between
caves
encode
figure.
Gifted....,
holed
in
jungles....
Kite
land
man
'nd
named.
Opps
pin
questions
rising
sent
the
unsent.
Victory,
whatever!
Xmas,
yes
z.
we talk about existence
like we talk about
the concept of time
trying to encode our souls
in something
we do not believe in
patterns seem to
make rings around
the heart of the flesh
the soul of the wind
my lips stay loose
for the right words
to slip its way through
but what is a thought
but a creation we waited for
but what is a thought
but a creation that we are waiting for
…because waiting is the message of Creation
we write with existential pens
we love with an
intensity the heavily depends
on the input-output
laws of equilibriums
can we really see?
can we really feel?
can we really exist?
my flesh becomes
a reason to hate myself
and to hate myself
becomes a reason to breathe
i want to be broken
without the feeling of insecurity
but God wants broken vessels.
that’s what the past said to me….
”I am a broken vessel.”
God is a broken vessel
so we twist our fingers to
match the rhythm of the pulse
so we lose our minds
to erase the words that made up
the original thought
and I continue to find myself
to find God
to leave clues for the past life
to find God the Moment.
No One Attending Will Ever Be The Same…..
-Destiny the Poet
we talk about existence
like we talk about
the concept of time
trying to encode our souls
in something
we do not believe in
patterns seem to
make rings around
the heart of the flesh
the soul of the wind
my lips stay loose
for the right words
to slip its way through
but what is a thought
but a creation we waited for
but what is a thought
but a creation that we are waiting for
…because waiting is the message of Creation
we write with existential pens
we love with an
intensity the heavily depends
on the input-output
laws of equilibriums
can we really see?
can we really feel?
can we really exist?
my flesh becomes
a reason to hate myself
and to hate myself
becomes a reason to breathe
i want to be broken
without the feeling of insecurity
but God wants broken vessels.
that’s what the past said to me….
”I am a broken vessel.”
God is a broken vessel
so we twist our fingers to
match the rhythm of the pulse
so we lose our minds
to erase the words that made up
the original thought
and I continue to find myself
to find God
to leave clues for the past life
to find God the Moment.
No One Attending Will Ever Be The Same…..
-Destiny the Poet
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