Laced by dainty petite waltzing flowers,
listening to their soft whispers to the bees
and butterflies, my summer days were ecstatic,
eyes felt alive with vibrant colours,
my heart felt vivacious with the melody of nature.
It's time now to bid adieu to warm days,
with a spirited foliage of farewell, tiptoeing in
a veiled bride with crimson, magenta, amber…
whirling, swirling, twirling whimsical leaves
trees are decorated with, and some
sprawled creating a velvety tapestry
under the soon-to-be bare branches,
no less gorgeous than the glorious flowers
ravishingly stunning, and exquisitely opulent,
enchanting human senses, hearts and souls
erasing their bleakness and melancholy.
O fall, let this poignant lore of love wrap my imagination
forever with a faint aura of sublime feelings,
I glide through the season with an ethereal sensation,
My existence transcends into a rare celestial experience....
with burgundy, ochre, sepia, sage, scarlet.....and more!
I recall it clearly. It was at August’s end,
and I was at the end of sweet sixteen.
Something would transpire soon that would transcend
the beauty of my summering and a world of green.
A dark-eyed stranger casually stepped into the scene.
Summer’s heat still lingered in the air
when I noticed his snatched glimpses aimed at me.
Those glimpses soon turned into a stare
in three days’ time when alone with him I’d be,
gazing back into exquisitely expressive eyes of ebony.
Like autumn leaves changing to warmer hues,
I was changing too - falling . . . falling . . .
never knowing decades later, he would be my muse
even though I’d lost him – that young man so enthralling,
Here I am; even now, his sweet soul I’m recalling.
He was my Blue Aster, my Morning Glory;
my early, alluring autumn romance;
my best and my brightest love story -
that boy that had me in a trance from my first glance
when I knew without a doubt I had to take a chance.
For a wondrous while, in his eye I was a gleam.
But September ended. Oh, melancholy ache!
To know that I was living but a dream
and that to cold reality I would awake,
yet September’s reverie I’ll not forsake.
Love Conquers All – by L Milton Hankins
"If asked to repeat a time-honored passage
I would say it is that “Love Conquers All,”
For, whatever the situation, it is the message
If asked to repeat a time-honored passage,
I'd pass this adage in my far-advanced age:
“Love Conquers All,” sends a clarion call,
If asked to repeat a time-honored passage
I would say it is that “Love Conquers All!”"
'Love Conquers All' embodies in lyrical intonation
the ethos of L Milton Hankins,
exquisitely crafted in the difficult Triolet form,
a form in which he excelled.
The essence of the theme he championed
used to get reflected in his interactions with
and in his comments on the poems
of the fellow poets at PoetrySoup,
encouraging them with suggestions
to become poets of worth,
thus conquering the hearts of so many PS poets
by his caring and appreciative attitude.
For me, this poem embodies the message
he has been so keen to transmit
as the 'time-honored' 'clarion call'.
The spirit of the poem aptly reveals
the sentiments of many like me,
traversing the twilight zone of 'far-advanced age'.
the turkey was exquisitely browned to perfection
we saw her take it out of an oven marked convection
what is your secret? we asked the baker of the year
I can’t pinpoint it, she said, this grandmother dear
another old lady was irritated with grandma’s win.
She urged me over so the gossiping could begin.
It’s not even cooked, it is raw inside, she reported.
She painted it with acrylics, she deserves to be deported.
Small, but exquisitely designed.
A product of a bygone age.
A prime example of its kind,
Its value would be hard to gauge.
Still working after all this time;
Its usefulness is far from past.
In fact it’s barely reached its prime
In those days they made them to last
Right, now the auction has begun.
The tension here is plain to see.
Who here will be the lucky one?
So now what am I bid for me?
Mesmerized by your chrysanthemum smile,
I drifted in bliss inside the halo
of your gladioli gaze
and as I studied the grace
of that forget-me-not face,
I memorized your metaphors
and your many luscious similies,
like the lushness of your eyelashes
that frame your wide, ebony eyes
as if they were the wisps
of delicate cirrus clouds
adrift in a crystal sky.
And so it is
your face will forever
be stenciled
on the fabric of my mind,
for you are my
ever-marvelous, magical muse.
A multitude of the hues of you
are exquisitely inked
indelibly
in my soul.
Mother Nature's rhythmic waves crash
on exquisitely sculpted rocks.
Her spray touches me as they splash
her gift, the ocean, as it talks.
snow is exquisitely beautiful
when it is fresh, it dazzles like rhinestones
rivaling water droplets on a spider’s web
snow is pristine before we make steps in it
she brings a magic
replicated by nothing else
refreshing, enlightening, revitalizing
she changes the ambiance of air and field
nothing changes a day as fast as pristine white snow
As attention is released from food
it heightens magnetic mood
lucidity descends kinetic
discernment ascends aesthetic
ideas caught, nothing goes naught
Body cleared from excess toxin
channels widen spilling more options
downward floods idyllic inspiration
upward goes my motivation
observation sharp for superior creation
Food for body is not food for spirit
fasting increases angelic visits
feeding mind so cordial with verses divine
such a clean sacrifice makes
my stanzas exquisitely explicit
Time spent preparing meals
godlike used for lyrical poetic reels
layers we spiritually allegorically peel
seals ink with rhymes and rhythms
ecstatic rhapsodic colourful prisms !
This woman a Stradivarius
exquisitely crafted,
awaiting gentle caress
when full willing,
the music building
phrase by phrase,
minute by minute
in ever-patient hands,
listening carefully
in sweet dialogue,
swaying to the rhythm
as leisurely crescendo
until full-throated
she bursts forth
in rapturous release,
melody flooding
conjoined hearts.
Echoes savouring,
treasured beauty.
Cold morning light of misty haze.
Ground section, three dimensional rectangular gaze.
Sharp thorns on rose dead red misty tears.
Cracked leather from fisted gloves of black weaponised might.
Shine glistened leathered shoes dulled in this dead light.
Long coat warmth hanging off soulless cold.
Dark glasses cloaked glass eyes shone in glee.
Box lowered slowly.
Oh, but so, so exquisitely.
Standing witness for the joyful final act of the murdered end of thee.
a bouquet …
exquisitely exquisite
like naught else on this gilded planet
blooming on tender branches
supple and swaying
‘una flor fragante’
silken and sweet
pink petals open to entice … entirely
it’s lilt, aromatic
whirls thoughts like an eggbeater into
a carnal chaos
it’s synergy directing a
divine dermal dissolution of discretion
bane of the omnipotent
the fearless turned fools for its magic …
and madness …
inviolate or prurient
it has made kings out of paupers
twisted wills to wars
spun orbs on their axes
and made the universe of unions
ache for its aspect
the imperfect perfection of its
bewildering allurement
and the satiny seduction of
it’s beguiling floret -
the flower …
feminine.
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with GALA AI software )
I couldn’t help myself, peeking through the trees
at the white, glowing moon. It seemed so close,
so far away, meant for a gothic grace - the swish
of an antique gown, nearly floating in the midst.
Two trees held the moon between them; squeezed it
exquisitely, beautifully, tenderly. I’m caught in the light
of the luminous lanterns seeking respite, surrendered
to waning twilight. A twinkle in my steadfast soul.
Must I lose; I might linger, with my iPhone to control
the soulful image - what I will make of it. My backyard,
the trees thrill me, move me into the presence of God.
A scintillation of Eden, dumbed-down for dust-to-dust.
What spectacle of glory will we one day see; our lens
in eternity? Will we soak up color choices that stretch
forth one after the other? We can only imagine;
we can’t even imagine! I turn the moon off; step inside.
Do you still love me Jehovah. If you do, why are my troblems so many. Why are my enemies like the grains of the sand. Why is calamity my predator. I am afraid to chose, to talk, and to act because the repocussion is like an untimely bomb. I chose to serve you, and yet I see no great satisfaction. I chose to love you, but I find no great love. Am I deceiving myself not seeing you love or am I deceiving myself thinking you love me. There is nothing special about me. I am not great. I am not exquisitely beautiful. I am not excessively godly. I am nothing desirable. I am just me, but I chose to love you because you love me first. But how much do you love me, do you tresure me or do you think I am lost cause. I am asking you Jehovah, how much do you love me.
"Being alone with Spirit lifts souls with gifts of joy for hearts and light for eyes." Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whether I am embracing joy or buried in strife,
Your presence has been clear to me all of my life.
Through all years, I have sought to feel You even more
so truth continuously cements firmer within my core.
Your closeness - my awareness ~ I live zealously breathless
Whenever I need and seek precious time alone with You,
I close my eyes so all of the world leaves my view.
Focusing on a tiny white spot grows an ethereal light.
I see and feel vibrations pulsed exquisitely bright.
Your closeness - my awareness ~ I live zealously breathless
Within my chest palpitates a genuine, stupendous high
unlike any intoxication to be felt on earth's side of sky.
It is no longer air that I breathe, but Your glory I inhale.
You lovingly wrap me serene in glimpses of divine detail.
Your closeness - my awareness ~ I live zealously breathless
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