Based on artwork of Sabrina Alvar
In this verdant forest,
I have a front view
to a stream of blue
and I sit surrounded
by pretty little flowers
My trunk is broad
and ivy adorns it
Not but five feet from
the ground,
my lower body has split
and it’s as if
my upper body
has parted in
opposite directions
consisting of
two GIANT arms
reaching outward
and upward,
fashioning
a circle which has left
a huge and empty
space
a happy place
where one may
climb onto my trunk
and use it as a seat!
A woman sits here now
She faces the stream
as clouds in azure sky
pass on by
Small leaves like streamers
dangle
from where
my large limbs came together
at the top
A small rabbit
stares out from
the hollow in my trunk.
I offer all creatures
my comfort
and a green
enchanting view.
Just call me
a cozy tree
A Wily Brush
The world has become my canvas
Everyone's paths
conjuring patterns
Vain ventures
plenty vanities
concocting colors
As unflattering wills
arouses a wily brush
This world is a notating papyrus
Each monk and mockery
fusing a lucid ink
As Pain taunts pleasure
masking our actions
with blending colors
Different worlds are formed
Birthed by ephemeral words
ushering a cascade of thoughts
flaunting baskets
of friable dreams
fashioning the pen
a flickering fiend
flattering friends and foes
a slick ink
with a cloying unction
The world can now see American Democracy fashioning the guiding principles and values that promote unity but the corrosive self-serving nature of Capital Power that runs co-lateral with it may never successfully coalesce.
While Democracy serves the Citizens Sovereignty, Capital Power serves only itself.
Only one can truly rule.
fashion queen witch spent gobs of time fashioning her attire
attaching ribbons, ruffles, and tinkling bells we all could admire
Dot is such a diva, she must be stuck up we all said, without knowing her
She was a kind soul, with a generous heart that was immensely pure.
The moral of this tale is to say, just because someone is fancy and sleek.
Does not mean they are in any way a bully, or a strange kind of geek.
Fashion queen witch taught the girls in the neighborhood to sew.
And one interested boy too, his name was Little Le Beau.
I find you once again in old photographs~
a devil's grin that stabbed my heart to passion~
mother called you mad and father said riffraff,
but I gave myself to you without ration,
unaware your love would become a mooncalf,*
fashioning nubile feelings into ashen
heaps of gruesome and decaying lumps of gray
until even the photographs fade away.
*a term that can refer to any monstrous or grotesque thing.
Forward you wouldn’t move
When expected in the groove;
Sideways turning is all you do
To aid the destroyer and foe.
And fastest you skip and dash
When there’s no need to rush;
Fashioning a facsimile ever tense
When all you do is sit on the fence.
But no amount of feigned zeal
Shall those sharp wounds heal;
Mountains of duping balm unleash
And I’d still unmask all your fetish.
There are those who take what they want.
Pez dispensers of pain and suffering
,, gleaning, never planting
Rapists of fresh air and confidence.
Staining the souls of everything.
Tumors in the marrow of society.
They are small glimpses into hell
professional complainers and oppressors
With bachelor's degrees in deflection and deceit.
PHD'S in the blame game.
Others only take what they need.
Giving the rest away to those in need,
Calm waters, splintering calibers of decay.
They are small windows into heaven.
Bachelor's degree in responsibility and reason.
PhDs in fathomless faith.
The well-meaning try to fix evil with bleeding hearts...
Evil thinks they're soft tools-plays them for fools.
To be used for evil endeavors.
If evil isn't acting out, it is plotting its next twisted step.
Fashioning chalk pentagrams, dreaming in hues of death.
Evil can never be fixed.
Evil must be minced into oblivion.
The trend is to coddle and pacify-
Until it festers from an irritating blemish to
incurable disease and endless menace.
Artist - derelict and drifter.
Move about like windblown bones.
Bathing in the dry, veined riverbed.
Fashioning crafts and wares unwanted.
Weaving ends that never intend to meet.
Father of the northern aurora lairs.
Dancing with ice bears atop great flows.
So cold, both sun and flyer freezing midair.
Tooth walkers jab the flanks of ice ghosts.
Mother rainforest, a forever emerald charm.
Within every shadow, a deadly smirking slant.
The panther and poison dart hopper.
To the last known being of a dying clan.
They'll all meet within the womb of reckoning.
Far above this temporary mad blue orb. churning.
The mysteries opening only to the searcher.
Like a Fabergé egg on the apron of forever.
‘In God we trust,’ for he trusts us
to represent him on this earth
Fashioning humans in his image
He relies on us to give birth
But more and more folks today
simply shun His way
Especially the double-degreed
Seems what they picked up
in Financial Planning class
is the first commandment’s
no match for greed
You can’t raise a kid today
It’ll cost you a fortune
is all they ever hear
Little wonder that they
while the birthing years away ~
Tiny babies are what they most fear
If he who does not know kept silent, discord would cease.
~ Socrates
Squabbling with words; spats in opposition
can bring about discord and suspicion
Christians should be able to live in harmony
or their accord and union will atrophy
What kind of world must humans think to mold
in bringing warmth and not a chilling cold
fashioning traits with kind words of diction
not spawning hurtful thoughts, causing friction
Antagonism unfolds to reveal hostility
ruining mutual trust and tranquility
With staunch optimism, I faithfully pray
that no chasm of rancor will whorl my way
For as long as the risen sun casts mornings in glory
we will not bind our souls with fear and worry
Each night a profusion of stars shines from above
I pray one day we will all share brotherly love
*My head is not buried in the sand, and I don't wear rose-colored
glasses, but I'd rather have positive thoughts than negative ones
about our tomorrows.
Amidst summer’s day
Post middle school finale
In the concrete valley
A vanguard viking lay
We gathered as a ragtag crew
Peeled his corpse off the floor
Carrying him, despite the gore.
To the stream, as we knew what to do
Fashioning a mausoleum of straw
Hoping he felt no disdain,
His grave enveloped in flame
And gently floated away.
It was there I thought to myself,
“What is the meaning of it all?”
In the frozen grip of winter's chaperone,
Cinderella gets walzted in like a dirty faced hussy.
As light and darkness stand side by side
in a battle for her supremacy.
Godmother has the ground vermin rousted up
from their hidden abodes.
Busy fashioning her apparels and pearly things.
But kissing in their modes.
Dreams that have lied dormant promise the moon,
meets with sunbeams fresh advances, with golden threads of dress-up in swoon.
New pickup lines and peer reviews
to peak at her pinnacle lines.
Fresh new light clings to the hem of misty morn,
sown at her delicate feat, like diadems.
Promised in consecrated dew-drops newly born.
The fowl caress the air in synchronized swim,
in salvos of savoir faire,
bannering rehearsal,
the reversal of Death's Nadir.
Much work to do in presenting.
Gonna have a good show.
Godmother tends to her proper dress.
Tries to tone down her exude of amoress.
Winter looks tacitly, concerned-
from the cold distance,
but is lit up by the way Spring looks back
in her gratitudes,
when she turns,
bows and curtseys at her complicit,
Majesty.
let’s go Legos blocks
building yellow, green, red beck
love birds parakeets
~
built lovingly by
children of little tiny
hands snapping gathered
~
blocks of colored formed
plastic little molded bricks
fashioning contrived
~
erected birds made skill
fashioned from stacking snap blocks
multicolored bricks
2nd Place placement in contest
For Legos Nursery Rhymes Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 5 7 5 0 5 7 5 0 5 7 5 0 5 7 5
Total # Syllables: 68
Total # Lines: 15 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 45
Wyandotte shaman's medicine bag was new
but had the feeling of old soul spirit
someone had spent hours fashioning it
I felt undeniable power as I held it in my hands
the stones had been especially selected
to induce hope, fertility, and a happy dream state
I fingered the long strands of leather, understanding
loving the feeling this medicine bag gave me
wondering about the medicine women who had gone before
feeling spirit arriving in the way of visions of the night
it was a fabulous feeling, bringing me peace and joy.
The turning wheel of transient time
rotates life’s rhapsodic kaleidoscope,
and creates enchanting patterns prime,
crafted by mélange of mesmeric hope.
Contrived chameleon colors transform
the visage of mind’s vast topography
into ashen wasteland ravaged by storm,
or into a glistening emerald valley.
The rootless diffused dreams adrift,
float in the cascade of fantasy sight,
the shroud from misty vision they lift,
fashioning a beguiling vista of delight.
I have been flying on butterfly wings,
flittering in rippling air out of distress,
before it could fly away beyond spring,
forms for me the tapestry of happiness.
I have traveled lonesome in sunny days,
across the greening wilderness in shine,
or along the glittering garden pathways,
lined with spring saplings in hued vine.
Mind’s canvas turns into memory montage,
as the receptive consciousness free of strife,
configures bliss in the kaleidoscopic collage,
I see the reflection of joy in the mirror of life.
________________
May 7, 2022
Contest : In The Mirror Of Life
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon
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