simple
refined
unapologetically elegant
words used to describe a beauty that lingers within
buttons
freckles
width of a finger
hidden in quiet places for only the astute to see
folds &wrinkles, shadows &seams
soft borders that hold back a grace that overflows
sifting
straining
gently seeping flow
a pouring out of details to light the world around
Hard, Cold, Unkind or Uncaring.
Unknown things that cannot encroach upon brilliance
tender
thoughtful
meek &mild
understated pleasures both in gift and in receipt
shifting then lowering… an upturning of the face
balancing by the unspoken order of levels in space
asymmetric and undulating - slightly askew
unexpected effects of a stunningly natural stance
corners
quiet
peace or solace
found only by those who would venture to seek
A line divides the bed they share
a line, invisible, but there.
Between the North, South East, or West
who knows which side now offers rest?
Post-angered words it widens so
a space where unspent feelings flow
and neither dares encroach this place
with cautious touch or first embrace.
The line did not exist at first
when then their tangled limbs traversed
the bed at any angle known;
no part of it they claimed to own.
Now he lies left, and she lies right
the border crossed by some invite;
and neither knows the reason why
some nights allow, and some deny.
A line divides the bed they share
a line, invisible, but there.
entry for Constance La France's contest:
Write a Beautiful Terza Rima
But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation,
a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him
who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light; 1 Peter 2:9
The very hairs of our heads are numbered
and Jesus has called us to be faithful.
Forgiven, with fear I am no longer encumbered.
Is it so peculiar to render the choice
to praise our Prince of Peace for deliverance
from darkness? His Spirit strengthens my voice.
I'm grateful, yet with restraint, to have the chance
to share my faith with those who spurn God’s good grace,
not deterred by their questioning glance.
Beforehand, without onslaught upon their space
I ask the Lord to lead in my approach.
Sometimes I sense, “Wait, don’t speak face to face.”
“Lighten up! This is not the time to encroach,
Show, don’t tell,” counsels my Coach.
We live in earth's strangest time,
as the human creature rose from slime
(if only briefly) to encroach,
on the domain of the roach.
Don’t listen to the clamor of my crowd
Forget the noise when I approach
Dismiss the darkness of my shroud
Don’t heed the voices that encroach
I am as innocent as rain
As unguilty as a child’s smile
I have no history to explain
So listen to me closely while
I tell you simply who I am
I’m the one who handed you a coin
The one who led you through the rain
The voice that steadied your resolve
The balm that sought to heal your pain
The friend you never recognized
In darkness and in blinding light
The name unspoken through your day
The voice unheard inside your night.
Christopher M. Swan 2009
I want peace
They make of me a throng tease
While I refused to be angrily steer
I made them fleer
Want to appease
But was afraid to approach
Can't hold grudge a pinch
Rather help make ease
Good but is it not to poach?
Better choose to instill
For poking at will
May cause us to encroach
Peace is apiece
Whence each felice
To compensate simplicity
Which promotes docility
Stoop for repose; stand not for subterfuge
That everyone could enjoy
The would-be harmony trying to employ
And be certain Naija is our refuge
It takes a Big Stick,
To approach the Mound with Pride!
It takes a BIGGER STICK,
To encroach a MOUND that WIDE!
Do not encroach, infringe or invade
No trespassing sign made by Wade
For his brothers Maddox and Mead
Tiny problem, they are too young to read
In the city of dread,
Lies a haunted, ghostly homestead.
The masonry draped in cascade of red,
Shared a foul, rot & putrid smell as he's dead.
Deeply I endured & tried hard to encroach,
A sigh of relief turned the moment's approach.
A shadow emerged, dark in ambush,
Staring with gleam & hunger in rush.
Erasing the gap, he turned distinct,
His name, a blade, cut my tongue, i think.
The sharp nails he wedged,
At my waist's curved edge.
Through the spines fixed & anchored, we flew up above the range,
Beyond the empty mouth, I swallowed the raw echo in derange.
Blindfolded by those deep eyes, I lost my senses from the ocular socket in the guise,
Deep down, the blood was drowning loud from the sunk spikes.
Splash, Splat! Sound seemed like I whined & moaned,
The body melted, rained down & disowned.
The cage of ribs emptied and broke out,
He took the heart and threw it in doubt.
You ignite the
romance of my dreams.
I wish to encroach your
lips with my
tasty sandwich of perfected
rosemary teat.
I'll make your brain
immune to my soul
so you become out
of breath when far
from your source.
My toes will python
your emotions,
make you feel good with
motions that can't be
found in Neptune.
Oh! my Fairy prince,
should I Massage
those fire clay
masculinity and
blow your mind out of its organ?
I'm devoured by the
moans of your consistency.
Devoted to the strings of
your intentionality.
Should I delineate your
cubes of grip so it
illuminates the lines
of storytellers?
Or are you too shy to
tell the world that,
You're the heel of
my heart, the calf
of my stamina.
The spine of the moon
and the Larynx of the dark stars.
Honey!
I'll let you dance to the rhythm of Calla
Lily while I paint in the beams of Zinnias.
In the vast expanse where dreams reside,
Let ambition be your constant guide.
Through stormy seas and skies of gray,
Hold the vision, light the way.
When doubts encroach and shadows near,
Stand tall and let your mind be clear.
Every failure, a stepping stone,
To realms of greatness yet unknown.
See beyond the present plight,
There shines a future, bold and bright.
With every dawn, a chance to rise,
To chase your dreams across the skies.
Embrace the journey, heed the call,
With hope and courage, face it all.
In every challenge, find your might,
Think big, stay positive, take flight.
For life's a canvas, vast and grand,
Paint your destiny with a steady hand.
Believe in more than what you see,
And your spirit wanders far and wide.
There are men and women with small mind's ,
That live on hate to shoot you down.
Love: reminded me of so many pictures
of my old and tattered photo album.
Some grey, some full of vivid hues.
Some portraits, some landscapes,
some plain, some showing mountain tops,
peaks that are high, others are low,
the nadir and zenith of our love.
Yet as we both trudged throughout
our long, long years, we held our hands,
faced all the types of weather that came our way.
For even the weather had its greys and hues;
but if clouds overhead did encroach
we never forgot their silver lining.
And from above a ray of hope always shone.
He guided us truly as He always promised.
And arm in arm we went on our way.
I am not a Poet
I know this fact true and full well
In the orthodox conventional literal way
As I am not able to use set standard form
So what I write
Therefore does not conform
So I agree wholeheartedly not disagree
Technically I am not a Poet
All I am is simply someone who
Likes to write and comment about things
That don't necessarily fit any set remit
But yet I still want to have a go
So I end up having to encroach
And impose and join in other ways
And blur the lines and rules of engagement
Because although I may not be a poet
1 thing I can admit is this
I suffer through my words
Like any tortured Poet would
As to me writing is more about
Exposure of one's true self soul and heart
Than a form of compliance to an art
If that stifles my openness and integrity
And does not keep my demons at bay
Rather lets them lie in wait
And my silence further leads onto
Yet more inevitable tortured mistakes
POETRY
I dream poetry since I got entry
to Poetry Soup.com, eight years back from
Two Thousand Fifteen, continuing been keen
to enjoy the contests trying my best.
My creation cum recreation.
But to mention:Honest confession !
I am an intruder. Great wonder !
So sorry ! My limited vocabulary
in English showing foolish
approach to encroach,
trying to pen, may be in vain
verses : Valiant ! Vigorous vibrant.
Yet I dream poems, venturing any theme.
amidst competent team
to nourish and nurture in real rapture
just to culture:
Language not rich, poor grammar to stitch.
Syllables I select ,probability not perfect.
Yet my enthusiasm knows no spasm.
Coming up poems ! I can neither claim,
those as gems,
nor exceptions but real relaxation .
My full satisfaction.
In last phase, feeling craze,
Dull days to entertain ,
oozing frolic fountain.
I dream Poetry ,
trying to produce tree
yielding verses of emotive blossoms
spreading fragrance from my bosom.
Spontaneity leaves behind the ego,
effectively being a state of no mind,
wherein with no urge to either come or go,
cravings related to form are left behind.
Awareness self-aware, in staid stillness slow,
thus escapes clutches of narrow fears that bind.
Zen is not negation but celebration,
invoking God’s grace for our life’s duration.
The concept of emptiness in any ism,
is oft mistaken as a passive approach,
we deem nihilistic as an aphorism
but in truth this practice is above reproach.
Once empty, God’s light ignites our body prism
leaving within no room for thoughts to encroach.
Our doubts recede, when we become the answer,
frolicking with joy, like a cosmic dancer.
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