monotonous merchantman magniloquently enliven moonshine
into foaminess volumetrically
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 14–20, 2026)
I would like to listen to the sound of bonfire sticks crackling as he chucks one on and the second he throws to a dithering dog-or the waves lapping on the shore steadily, a toddler’s toes dipping in that sea and then he screams and runs right away to his parents who are devouring literature upon the shore. They loyally guard his sandcastle then chide him for pushing his sister who had stumbled and fallen on that work of art. I’d like to watch the tide go in as picnic baskets are cleared away and the last of the suncream is lathered thick on children’s skin. I’d like to taste the locals' ice cream letting bristles of my hair stick to my face and needing a second as the first melted right away sullying my beach wear. I’d like to smell sausages almost charcoaled on the grill as children are as speedy as rockets with plastic plates at the ready. A summer living by the coast would be sure to enliven my spirit and cater for my senses.
Lucid Explanations For Living
Luminous virtuosity that lies dormant all your life
Numerous animosities that combine to form violence and strife
Curious curiosities for the emperors fifth wife
Numerous generosities that involve the back stabbing of a knife
Automatically mistaken for another person by someone you love
Biographically misshapen by the author as the truth is left out to the shove
Colour-graphically laden by the images of heaven from above
Instamatically forsaken by the grapevine from a dove
Elevations of inspiration cascading from the moonlit horizon
Revelations of observation parading bright without the lights on
Celebrations of invocations that serve only to enliven
Collaborations of confirmation that momentum forms only to syphon
Elucidate the concept as you illustrate the notion
Repudiate the precept while you hover above the ocean
Rejuvenate the incept as you maintain the sincerity of your devotion
Recuperate the sunset while you transpire without commotion
By Elizabeth Moroz Copyrifht 2025
I kick start my day's routine,
with sizzling cup of coffee.
As I wake from sleep, yawning,
you reach me as my buddy.
With your aromatic touch,
you enliven my senses.
With your kiss, you burn my lips.
A child as grows enjoys rainbow of joys,
Many a marvel in a wondrous world,
Joys mingling with toys getting bouncy buoys,
A world of birds and butterflies unfurled.
As comes his youth that changes only toys,
Rewards of life so naïve staying no more--
Boys chasing girls, and girls giggly at boys,
And soon mid-age knocks at a blissful door,
Clay pots as if in kiln get to ripen,
Realities reel out nigh hard and keen,
The joys of old times no more enliven,
Time knocks, nudges him to kneel, look within,
In hope he grows old, fulfilled life to find,
But grows blasé, bliss of ere left way behind.
___________________________
Sonnet | 08.09.2014 | life, reflection, childhood, youth, joys, old age
Note: As one grows old he tends to reflect on his past
How human
is human nature?
Alas, then, is nature
by default also human?
Human not soulfully enliven?
Just deposed products
of the same, natural
mystery?
So, is Nature or Man
to blame? -- is it devil
or God
or simply
the pollinated seed
perpetually alive in every
duplicating spontaneous
naturally manipulated oblivious
spiritually vacant pod?
we as bliss magnetism
as directed by grace
enliven body nodes
in organic form
the ego aspect
merges with spirit
enabling bilocation
of our consciousness
both transcendent and immanent
The fate of a crayon, it waxes and wanes,
From the engrossing grip of an artist's hand,
To a still life framed in a box of chains,
Where unmade strokes are jailed till scanned.
The sky was never cast so blue of hue.
The grass and trees so blushed with green.
The sun so brightly yellow and true.
Than when crayon pastels daubed the scene.
Each crayon remembers its last lip kiss,
Soft and compliant, in a sheath of dreams.
Kept concealed and wrapped up in bliss,
To enliven dull scenes with vivid schemes.
So unleash the dreams you've put away,
In a boxed-set of crayons for a rainy day.
One among the eight heroine types keen (utkanthita)
to end separation (viraha) from her beloved
____________________
My eyes long for one glimpse of thy visage
That eludes me like a mirage,
My arms ache imagining thy embrace
When will I see thou face to face?
All I desire, thy touch bereft for long,
O come, enliven the lonely notes of my song,
Come, let me remedy the cause
Of thy leaving me, what so hurting was,
Let not go waste this sandal paste on my forehead,
Let not these fresh flowers fade,
Nor kohl in eyes with my tears spread,
This golden belt on waist,
These silver anklets, all my ornaments,
And womanhood of my garments,
Join me to plead: O let no more time waste.
____________________
Natya Shastra | 01.02.2025 |
Note: This is first of Ashta-Nayikas, eight heroine types, as classified in a Sanskrit treatise on performing arts in Bharata’s Natya-Shastra. The state (avastha) of the eight romantic heroines widely themed in Indian paintings, literature, sculpture, classical dance forms and music. Virahotkanthita, suffering separation, is the first of the eight such heroines depicted here in poetic form.
if we were to mourn
death of souls who touched us
then would we not be grieving everyday
if all memories of our past lives becomes known
so then to which image should we now cling
when all beings shape shift their forms
both on earth and the multiverse
waking up from sleep
dreams lived are shrugged off
yet within the lucid sequence enacted
we went through an entire gamut of emotions
as both dreamer as also the dreamed
so pausing time we enliven the now
radiating love and light of Self
We rode on bus with a crescent moon in the horizon.
We sat together in silence with feelings of love uprisen.
We travelled to a restaurant for our spirits to enliven.
Meditative eyes
enliven heart’s sighs,
seeking to embrace,
outpourings of grace.
When heart lotus blooms,
rapture within zooms,
as we so become,
one with love’s bliss hum.
Before heaven’s gate,
what is our blink rate,
in the heart of God;
sight that leaves us awed?
Love and light fills form,
birthing a bliss storm,
within body urn,
where in joy we burn.
Having been, so known,
this sight to us shown
no wonder we hope
to again elope.
These words which we write,
of soul’s wingless flight,
is for each to claim,
in their life’s endgame.
I wonder how the latest let say woods in this side of world are wishing to grow how
clattering all the ways somehow non chalant, somehow
withering flea and folly.
the problem is not even the furnance so to say
even though we will never waste much time let say
growing perishable tomatoes.
Of course farmers of tomatoes are necessary and
the other blossomings-
the problem of tendency is the woods nowadays, behold
whatever windows and doors?.
Yes, don't tell me that some biscuits and other cookies
will help to enliven peaceful parties and programmes.
I am a mountain, not high, not low
To my shoulders, the sunshines glow
To my streams, the waters flow
To nurse the creatures down below
I am the measure of someone's fame
At times, I put the fuels to flame
Those who cherish a glorious name
Dare to play in my own game
To some dreamers, I'm next to heaven
My forest glades are safe haven
My green hue makes the odds even
It makes the dying hearts enliven
My green jungles are paradise
To some hearts as cold as ice
I mend the burdens of the eyes
More, when the sun is on the rise
He was not hungry, but, he knew the hunger of each soul.
He knew, many were physically and mentally ill.
The liberation of each soul from their bonds was his goal.
In him, the poor and the downtrodden felt an unknown thrill.
Caste, colour, and creed differences couldn't touch his shadow.
The leaven of the Pharisees couldn't enliven him.
Dining with the socially rejected was not just a show.
He harmoniously relinked the earth's broken rhythm.
The lowly found in him father, mother, brother, and friend
At his touch, Levi felt his sins were being washed away.
The censures of the scribes, as sewage streams, had no end.
Could they, yet, keep him away from his compassionate way?
Those who could not cure diseases, kindled them for the poor.
It's in Jesus, for their illnesses, the poor found their cure.
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