Duel Challange from poetry soup
Prompt
Write a poem inspired by moonlight
Rules
Poem must include the word "moon" or "moonlight"
Won challange :) thanks for voting
Tonight the moon is dazzling
Looking from my garden
Gazing towards the lake
My heart did leap for joy
I began dancing in the moonlight
Majestic ripples in the water
Sent shivers down my spine
Stars twinkled in the horizon
Totally sublime
So, happy to be alive
Moonlight ~ eerie, will vampires be out !
I scream " where are you "
Come get my neck ~ bite me
Am I dreaming ~ or is that a howling wolf
Fixated in the moment of sheer ~ madness
focus fixated on bliss we transform
negating everything that which remains
as the heartbeat which brings about love’s storm
is our very quintessence free from stains
freedom absolute where there are no chains
the stillness point around which worlds rotate
throb eternal which never does abate
Memories of Darkness
A judgment of the past: where we’ve locked our dark halves.
Between grief and grace. The choice we made along the way.
Yet fixated on latent fears of losing face.
These thoughts weigh heavily, lounging with those inner chat voices.
No one hears me, even if they are standing in proximity.
It was the day the sun refused to shine, under a pale moonlight.
Playing broken mind games: in an apocalyptic futurist survival mood.
Standing in your circle of circumstances, brought to you by time, stops.
A zone within their corporation to find a way out of the cessation.
The world we choose out of ?context, only karma knows.
Locked inside this merry-go-round, screaming at shadows.
Of letting yourself down. For an end to this suffering.
Now those voices are so loud that everyone else is whispering.
She stepped lightly
Amid the golden reeds
Glowing, this nymph of
Riparian leisure --
Barefoot and scantily
Covered breasts, whose
Jutting pavilions twice
Blessed swayed and
Swelled as the marsh
Tried breathe, exhaled even
Deeper saturating its own boggy
Savors, fixated then
Upon her naked thighs
Exposed for the silk
Curtain had parted revealed
Luscious droplets clinging, slipping,
Slippery sliding my heart a slush
Of primitive desire --
A summer shower was photographed by
The child's father and professionally set
in a picture frame a few days later.
One day as he was fixated upon the sound
of the water drops dripping against the window
Panes as well as starring at the picture
Photographed and framed by his father,
The young lad asked his devoted dad,
"Why does it rain?" The father's reply was,
"It rains to take away some of the pain and
Shame that would otherwise overtake us.
Without the rain, said the dad, there would
Be more people without purity, without which there would be a world filled with more Shame.
Until that day of gazing into the picture frame,
The lad never realized there was so much
To be gained from the rain.
Our
resolve
to ascend
as we applaud,
let us not forget
that prior to intent,
which fixated our focus,
we had no sense of direction,
as we floated rudderless at sea,
alive and yet in a comatose state.
It is God’s will that drives higher actions
gentle love and light sans use of force,
so though He does dwell in our heart,
our free will must choose to pair,
with bliss divine sublime,
whence doing nothing,
blessings in-pour
and our path
becomes
clear.
If you ask me who my favorite artist is,
I’d say you’d find his canvases in my archive.
In framed landscapes of the auburn meadow,
pathways are swathed by sheath of amber leaves.
The blooming garden lined by the winding frail fence,
fading away in the horizon like the miasma of memory,
trailing the contours of fashioned imagery to the infinity.
The sunburst sky shimmers with the absorbed silence,
soaked up by the ambling clumps of crimson clouds.
A lone bird flies infatuated over the tinged thicket,
the wrought wings scaling the sapphire sky still.
The ardent portraits of nameless vibrant faces,
capture the poignant motif of anguish and ecstasy.
Feminine beauty fixated in chromatic motif of fervor,
dazzles with the passionate hues of the artist’s obsession.
If you ask me who the fervent artist is,
I’d say he is the possessed me.
February 28th. It was like any other day.
When she washed her face and
looked in the mirror, she didn't know she was leaving
the earth.
She was only 9 years old, and her sister, 11, died there too. After
reading her story,
I studied her picture
and began to form a bond with her. I
imagined her at her graduation, with beaming pride.
How did she die, instantly I hope.
Her smile haunts me, and I 'm now fixated on the prayer
around her neck, wondering why it did n't protect her?
I still believe miracles happen.
It’s 6.43am,
I’m awaiting my train.
I tune into the station,
Listening to the invisible spring birds
Belting a Beltane call and response;
A syncopation in freewheeling jazz tracks.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
I alight the shining lines,
Slide into my seat.
Watch the sun seep up and over rooves,
The rumble and tumble of the dustbin lorry,
Barking dogs,
People in a hurry,
Mobile but fixated by scrolling truths -
Reels of what's new, what's circumstantial,
And rolling news of worlds financial.
Woo-ah woo!
I'm borrowed fleeting glances
Of dolls house windows of toy town houses,
The click and flick of kettles
As the busyness of the new day blinks in.
Full steam ahead!
Clickerty-click, clickety-clack,
Clickety-click, clickety-clack.
Then a pause.
A beeperty-beep, and a whoosh of the doors
As they slide open.
An improvisation of passengers board,
Spilling into the carriages with costa-lot coffees,
Half full.
Commuting, suited and booted into the city.
Electricity!
With a murmuration, they're away from the station.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
For the contrived inducement
of the fixated being,
an aligned identity personified,
changes in self-devised palette
of metamorphosed color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon,
slyly cocooned,
paints surreptitiously
shape-shifted deception portrait.
In ostensible enactment
of life’s incredible drama,
performance perfected in one-act play
with obsessed passion parodied,
gilds the corollary crafted by alchemy,
an axiomatic designed drive
induces the wily shift
from one actor to another.
Out of the limelight,
the covert colors fade
on virtually made-up visage,
the pallid original face
morphs mystically into
veracity mirror of actuality,
reflects the real identity depiction,
painted in primal persona hues
of distinctive disposition,
epitomized once.
The spasm of pragmatic perception
splits the mirror,
shards of shattered pretence
willfully abandoned as discarded debris.
Transformation creates the eluding entity,
an alien in its own reinvented realm,
completes the illusory pattern,
designed by the paradigm of contrast.
Bright, luminous, blue stars
are fixated on affection
The moonlight fervor flooding
my weary soul.
Storm recedes definitely.
The sun shines brilliantly
fervently. My leafy soul is
full of felicity ,delight
The bearable butterfly lives
In the beauteous desert.
The blue pebble enfolds
a leafless forest.
The green runlet flows into
an unavoidable fate
“The Absolute is not liberated from bondage and obstruction. The Absolute is not purified, cleansed, and released. The Absolute is not liberated by union or separation. I am, indeed, the free One, like the sky.”
The Self is eternal, self-existent light
and as such never ever feels incomplete,
being luminescence that banishes night,
one with all existence, always bliss replete.
For Self there is neither descent nor ascent,
no desires to pursue, no cause to lament
and if our awareness be fixated thus,
transcending opposites, no fear forms nonplus.
Perhaps I see what I want to see.
Maybe something is beautiful because I deemed it so.
Or rather, I cannot pinpoint what stands out.
But why is it up to me for that decision?
How cruel.
Eyes fixated, hair shining through dazzling sunlight.
A pink dress tinged with white flowers,
sewn into patterns of sticks and branches.
Lipstick of red hues, or maybe, it was licorice black.
Too many choices to keep track of.
I don’t like to list options.
I speak of memories and experiences.
Brunettes, redheads, I can’t bear another thought.
A drawing board of dreams and fantasies,
I cannot stop thinking through obsessed observations.
Why must they all be so beautiful,
How can I convince myself that I am worthy?
Worthy of such intelligence, dignity, and affection.
I’m nothing more than a petty jester, a fool.
And yet they,
They are extraordinary.
“The avadhuta, alone, pure in evenness of feeling, abides happy in an empty dwelling place. Having renounced all, he moves about naked. He perceives the Absolute, the All, within himself.”
We flow like the fresh morning breeze,
mood and mode embrace and release,
having obliterated time,
with no demons left to appease.
Poised in peace betwixt bliss beat’s chime,
having no new peaks left to climb,
focus fixated on the void,
on its own heart conjures a rhyme.
Our presence, pure and unalloyed,
no longer by desires decoyed,
enlivened by bliss magnetism,
is no longer by thought forms toyed.
Grace igniting mind-body prism,
we thus transcend every known ism,
transforming as pure living light,
by a magical mechanism.
That all’s one is known by clear sight,
truth stark that banishes the night,
so here now, each moment reborn,
breath by breath heightens heart’s delight.
Ephemeral winger's
Success in the present;
For honour's timeless mention
Is fixated on.
Yes, the world around, heard
Yes, as deeply inscribed.
On winds, coldest, leaves blow away!
On plaque where leaves decay!
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