For the inducement of the compulsive being
the transmuting tenet of uniqueness,
the personified indebted identity
changes appearance in self-designed colour melange,
while the conjured chameleon furtively cocooned,
paints the shifting facade of deception,
as the languid life chases the transient mirage.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors
on the visage of made-up memory fade away,
the pallid psyche morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
reflecting the filtered rendering of primal hues' motif
of unaltered distinctive disposition it embodied once.
The lattice of contrived perception
designs the improvised fabric of truth.
The metamorphic mind creates the deluding elements,
resonating the echo of resounding insight,
filtered by its own transformed innate screen,
completes the paradigm shift of illusive reality.
about colors
So pale the rosebush on the verandah
is it because the night is so long and cold
the flowers look like the red purses
little girls have a few pennies in
kept hidden for her brother, a few
pennies to buy sweets for
I have lost the colors on my computer
it is gray, the spirit will not soar
like it didn't when I wanted to be a parachutist
I will visit the computer man
to bring colors back, even if it is artificial
and exude no aroma
the little girl sits at the back of the garage
furtively eat candy, but feel guilty
she should have shared the sweets
with her annoying brother, after all, she is
his big sister
In her hair, a red Gansho
.
'twuz just az y'all
imagined
i hang mineself for such
thuh think
in fact
more than
a thousand timez
yet again
mine kneck
snaps
"hern stood tall ('mong
thuh wild grass
and flowerz)
in thuh blue
scrim
frock
in the sun's
path
and i furtively
not far the cast
hern shadow
waiting with straw
twixt her teeth
waiting for her
knight"
She smilez
Az 'neath mine
plants
speak
Long Thin Blade of Weariness...
gloom of daze parries the long thin blade of weariness
metaphors adjust frequency matched patterns of
interwoven connectivity through mirrored meaning...
sameness, a variation of conformity, eventuates in
perennial lack for something notable to
be rendered as an attendant distraction...
corsets laced tightly although furtively hidden...
armatures support long in the tooth masses of
wobbly flesh and bones devouring kindred signs of desire...
levied endowments of netting bespoken quietly
as their whispered confluence of thoughts,
still wet from their birth, makes for an interesting
Sunday brunch as served by some, received by others
halve to have not - who says who scrapes the salt
from the mines of harvested beingness?
who doth say anything at all?
2024
When songs of joy are sung, full-throated and deep,
lines of gay rhyme and cheer may blissfully spring;
but songs kept furtively never lie or sleep
within a bard's secret, inward being.
What germ of hidden verse can be his art?
When the mind envisions poetry, profound
phrases of love pouring out from the heart's
impassioned lips may multiply unbound!
But riddled in a cipher, kept inside
a closed conundrum, there's a magic key.
Encrypted, made to go viral, far, and wide,
in rhymes apparent is his mind's bel esprit.
For beautiful souls always shine, and find
in the other the gift of a great mind.
The chromatic cords
of splendorous spring
embroider arcane art
on convivial tapestry
embellished elegance
dramatically drapes
the luminous landscape
of vibrant vivacity
as dream-drenched
blue lagoon
gets lashed
by idyllic eyelids
and
the lotus petals
of luscious lips
painted poignant
on silken canvas
of content countenance
the dulcet design
of narcissist facade
of innate pride
swathes furtively
the secret scars
of suppression syndrome
expunged.
The toiling time
revolves relentless
on convoluted canvas
etched with
fading felled leaves
of auburn autumn
in life consumed
while
the winter spider
weaves with strands
of twilight moments
the ordained web
with senile streaks
around hollow eyes
staring forsaken
at forlorn fringe
of weathered wasteland
as the lustrous lips
the fading flowers
lose withered
pristine patina
hedonist psyche
refuses to gauge
the grief of loss
the face morphs
into metaphor
for living panorama
captured by
the sanguine snapshot
of concealed charisma.
A Thought stands alone; waiting, cold, and shivering.
Yay, succor from a Scribe, who against the slaughter of the innocent, and whose own thoughts are fair, places around the shoulders of the Thought a robe of ermine- this being a robe of magic- the magic and mystery of forefathers, and of footprints of children not yet born.
Now, Thought standing regally, spawns more thoughts,
And thoughts upon thoughts blossom like a tree with fruits;
Yay, tutti frutti, ample for a slice of fruit to be given to each one in the crowd.
And the crowd, eating the fruit, began to think,
And so more thoughts were formed.
Halt! Do pray.
While eating fruit one hears a rattle at the door.
Foreshadowing that the door has no lock, it opens furtively,
(my heart now pounding, inasmuch guests were not expected),
And enters with aplomb, a haughty trickster from the witche's lair.
The trickster grabs the ermine wrap from Thought,
And as quickly leaves the room with the beloved robe.
Once more, Thought stands alone, waiting, cold, and shivering.
I always knew
But that day I had
To reaffirm
When ominous clouds furtively
Moved in
Soon and very soon those
I stood in the sunshine with
Started to move with the wind
Oh yes
A storm—a mighty storm—was raging
Alone, alone I was left standing
But quickly I got on my knees and
Started praying
Amid torrential tears falling
That sweet voice in my spirit
Started calling
A voice that's one of a kind
A warm resonance that soothes the
Heart and mind
A love, sweet love
That's unsurpassed
A grace and mercy
That is long last
Arms of strength that embrace
A spirit of comfort that came to
Wipe all the tears from my face
I always knew
But that day I had
To reaffirm
Cool and calm is the evening breeze.
Travelling miles, she brings us ease.
On wings so fleet as a fairy she comes,
Through woods and trees she sweetly hums.
An impish visitor, the dancer of the sphere.
An awaited presence, everyone’s cheer.
Singing and dancing, hopping, and skipping,
With the bells on her anklets ringing and tinkling.
Across the corn she merrily moves.
From where she alights, no one knows.
None can see her but sense her touch.
Shivering leaves fear her clutch.
She travels downhill winding the dale.
Swift and light, yet strong and hale
Fevered minds, with a touch, she heals.
Her nimble movements, everyone feels.
At times she is gloomy and not at ease.
"The silent song of the sighing breeze,"
Makes me wonder what makes her downcast,
She seems to tell; life cannot be always a blast.
Over land and water, she plays her tricks.
Like a flash of lightning she swiftly flips,
And furtively retreats to her far away nest,
To regain her cheer and roam after a little rest
No.1
For the maneuvered inducement of compulsive being,
the transmuting tenet of uniqueness,
the personified indented identity,
changes in the self-devised palette of color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon furtively cocooned
paints the shifting façade of deceptiion.
In the ostensible enactment of life’s amazing drama,
performance perfected in one-act play,
and with the obsession of passion ostensible,
gilding the consequence crafted by metamorphic alchemy,
the surreptitious shift from one actor to another,
is an axiomatic designed drive.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors fade
on the visage of the virtual makeup,
the pallid original face morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of shape rinsed with primal hue
of the unaltered distinctive disposition it embodied once.
The spasm of contrived perception splits the mirror,
the shapeless shards of shattered pretence
scatter as discarded debris abandoned.
Metamorphosis creates the deluding creature,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm of illusive shape shift.
The Travellers. The vagabond Cock on the Threshold's tree crowed as evil nights furtively flee from sunrise, as church bell tolled, tolling for the travellers. Expectantly, they set fourth at dawn ,early enough strutting down the river road, amidst valleys and Wuthering heights. They walked faster at noon, as sun shun very callously...withered all flowers. Weary and spent , heads bowed, penitently, they stood before him. The church bell tolled again, tolling for every one. Earth to earth, Dust to dust.
[Songs Inspired two line haiku
The first line is the name of a song]
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
[Foreigner]
waiting for a girl like you -
the wild flower by the gate
[Phil Collins]
another day in paradise -
my love chalice filled and refilled
[The Beatles]
here comes the sun -
furtively she draws the curtain to my heart
[Creedence Clearwater Revival]
have you ever seen the rain?
I was blind to unspoken love
[Simon & Garfunkel]
the sound of silence -
we dance to the rhythm of our hearts
[Lady Antebellum]
need you now -
the rose petals keep falling…down
[A Rocket to the Moon]
baby blue eyes -
heaven reflected in the swell of the sea
[Mary Hopkin]
those were the days
…and then your hand slipped out of mine
[Sting]
fields of gold -
the setting sun ripples on water
[Ronan Keating]
when you say nothing at all -
searching for reassurance in your eyes
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
© May 2022
Death, come not as a stranger to our town
[drawing the glances of the common folk
with downcast eyes, abundance of fear]
But expected by those who suffer much
And welcomed like an old, distant friend
Whom they have seen from time to time.
Death, come not as a stranger to our town
But like one rescuing from pain and suffering
For you, we know, bring the ultimate healing
Why will you slink about furtively receiving?
For all humanity knows your gentler touch
The last sighing breath when earth is done.
Did not Jesus welcome you, “It is finished!”
May we accept you openly, life replenished.
Written April 11, 2022
If you asked, I would speak to you of love
quietly whisper of its wily ways
furtively flirt with the flames of passion
invite you to gaze into wanton eyes
share the magic of a fleeting touch
warm breath upon a fresh bared shoulder
lust’s shivering memory lingering
in trembling dreams of separation.
And yet this is no answer to your question
but memories old lover’s left behind
devoid the subtle suffering and solace
of souls that dance together intertwined.
For love is but the brilliance of a moment
Simmering within an embered soul.
John G. Lawless
©1/3/2022
Zinc was squalid and by subtle fingers punctured.
Then, furtively slip into the gold market in darkness
That was pursued by our rare slip of staining it gold.
It was sighted and is now taken to the yard curtness.
Written: December 18, 2021
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