Gestate Poems

CREATIVITY- 4 TENETS endword

ENDWORD


What intimacy is its cause,perhaps

an immaculate conception of words;

too swift to comprehend,see or

recognise.The moment is there

and then is not.Gone with the wind

the seed of idea remains, to

germinate and gestate,fanned by a

mental fragrance of elation.Slowly

self-transcending a word into a phrase,

a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme

rides a waterfall of cadence,

into a chasm of verse. Terse or

long, the sonnet becomes a little song,

struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon

my page;a bastard-born of pain



MY POETIC BIO

Alliteration,the starting place, alongside

cinquains,apace in time,crystalline

lanterne and rhyme.Inspiration drew forth

footle,broken monoku &emagi for a while short

imagist was my style.Sequenced longer

poems metamorphose within this crysallis

changing into ekphrasis.Open,and free to be,

as you see,structured prose poetry.With

cadence and pause,others hear  my  voice
Open VERSE now this poet’s choice.

Not Leave for Winter

Perhaps I’ll lose my leaves and stay this year,
To join winter’s bleakest winds and hours; 
My northeast friends will leave and disappear
For southern sun and obsequious flowers.

Only a stray, grey squirrel will appear
To find if nut from fall may still be found.
My thin bark may be gnawed by hungry deer
As no food may be found upon the ground.

For winter force’d nascent thoughts inward
And I must have the luxury to weigh
An eidolon, now so froward,
The freedom to gestate and have its way.

Then spring shall come and her new buds emerge
For Life’s Forms shall have their demiurge.

What the Friggin

What The Friggin
Happened here mate.
I thought we had a date
Now you're late
Where's the bait?
I've burnt the steak.
You're a flippin' 
flagellate.
Get off your tailgate
and get over here
and gestate.
You friggin'
degenerate
cheapskate.

Creativity Clasped

yearning  
         to
release 
  the inner self
     being
 bold
      never 
to hesitate

           as ideas 
gestate
not  letting
      the moment pass

drawing
  back the veil
    to  let 
 imagination 
set sail
the exploration
 starts

   those poeima
        gifts 
free 
  from above
            free to deploy
each earthly day
        sent to enjoy

I
capture 
               the rapture

The Birthing

Sometimes it feels
as if I am carrying it as a child in its womb.

It is yet unformed, 
but it has searching plasmid eyes 
that see in the dark.

It is unnamed and dispersed as threads and fragments,
but I sense its weight.

In the beginning (that ‘beginning’ is always nebulous),
there is an impulse,
a motive pressure that cannot yet
be translated into words;
at that time (‘that time’ is always uncertain),
 it is a kernel of import, yet still meaningless.

If I don’t force it to appear
it will gestate, gather a form around it.

If we are sensitive to the creative process
we will know
It is not the words we hear inside us
but the passing of muted footsteps
as they enter a reason to be born.

Perhaps after all.  it’s not the poem coming through us
but we coming through the poem?

Borborgymi

Borborgymus, Borborgymi,
Eructate so delightfully!
I ruminate, throat tickles late,
And choking, I gesticulate.
I just ate but I don’t gestate.
Who throws the voice? Seems I’m the dummy.
Ventriloquist and talking tummy.
Borborgymi, Borborgymus
A lovely word, why all the fuss?

H/T to Milt’s Mysterious Rumbling Noises

Harbored Thoughts

Words have power,
Don't forget,
What comes out of your mouth,
Is what you're gonna get.

If you're filled with anger,
Contempt and unrest,
You must purge it and kill it.
This is no jest.

If you speak anger,
Hate and revenge,
This type of thinking,
Will never avenge,

The pain you once felt,
And still feel right now.
If you will find peace,
Put it down and avow,

To think only about,
The here and the now,
Whatever is worthy,
Of virtue endowed.

Peace is the order,
From this moment on.
In time you will find,
That the pain is all gone.

It's that which you think on,
How you meditate,
What goes on in your mind,
Will sit and gestate,

Till it finds a way,
To become manifest,
And affect your whole life,
In your heart make it's nest;

For thoughts are alive,
But you give them their power.
It's what you allow,
To grow and to flower.

Whatever you nurture,
Whatever you feed,
Will take root and grow,
And produce many seeds.

Dreamsleep

I rest in the memory
of things that I’ve loved
where time is not finite
 below or above
These pockets of joy
hold the key to my fate
as the dreams of my father
in slumber gestate
To live past tomorrow
diving deep in the past
with time still a virgin
the moment to last
And rise resurrected
each day with the sun
knowing fortune awaits me
—when sleep again comes

(Rosemont Pennsylvania: December, 2021)

A Woman To Mother

What makes a woman a mother?
Is it only because they can gestate?
Or is it the will to nurture,
A being that they did create,

Making a new being,
Is not that difficult,
All animals have done it for millennia.
So why do many humans,
Chose to be only to be a participant?

If taking responsibility,
For a new gift to the world,
Gives a phenomenal asset to the human collective,
Is that the ultimate reward?

Speak It

Words have power don't forget,
What comes out of your mouth is what you're gonna get.

If you're filled with anger, contempt and unrest,
You must purge it and kill it this is no jest.

If you speak anger, hate and revenge,
This type of thinking, will never avenge,

The pain you once felt and still feel right now.
If you will find peace, put it down and avow,

To think only about the here and the now,
Whatever is worthy and virtue endowed.

Peace is the order from this moment on.
In time you will find that the pain is all gone.

It's that which you think on, how you meditate.
What goes on in your mind will sit and gestate,

Till it finds a way to become manifest,
And affect your whole life in your heart make a nest;

For thoughts are alive but you give them their power.
It's what you allow to grow and to flower.

Whatever you nurture, whatever you feed,
Will take root and grow and produce many seeds.

Clear Sailing

New thoughts flit in and out
  that deserve a kinder fate
If they'd only meet resistance
  Perhaps they would gestate

Prose Poem Intimacy

What intimacy is its cause,perhaps an immaculate conception of words;too swift to comprehend,see or recognise.The moment is there and then is not.Gone with the wind the seed of idea remains, to germinate and gestate,fanned by a mental fragrance of elation.Slow,self-transcending a word into a phrase, a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme rides a waterfall of cadence,into a chasm of verse. Terse or long, the sonnet becomes a little song,struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon my page;a bastard-born of pain in the realm of the mind,replete with thoughts inspiration thrives,discerns over- spills,to reveal then configure and emerge:a fragrance to dwell,stay and perhaps haunt another

Poems I Write

Any type of poem I write
Breaks my mind of the
Concrete that it sits in
Delivering myself a headache that 
Erodes my brain which often
Finds me with nothing to
Gestate into a creation of write that is
Hidden among the muddled words and letters
Into a form no particular order,
Juggling in an attempt to gain sense of the muddle I
Keep within my head, I soon
Learn that
My poetry skills are limited.
Noticeably it shows as amaturish, if 
Only I had the abilities to
Piece together words into something that might
Qualify me as a form of poet.
Reading back
Something
That I have created
Undermining myself with little
Value
Wondering if an
X-ray of what is inside my mind would reveal
Yodels of verse that
Zig zags erractically inside



14th August 2020

The Zebra Mystique

I want to ride a zebra

   and race the rays of radiance
       through heat-waves’ sailing gradients -

     a folly wild - a mood untamed
   elated hands in bristled mane
unbridled veins uncorked champagne...

   yes! elevate sedate heart rate
     I WANT to ride a zebra

        stripes yin yang oasis sweet and
          whimsy rules a drumroll beat as

        gallop sways euphoric roughness
      crossing plains of dreamy lushness -
    steed’s exotic tender toughness
  pacing thrills in state of luscious...

yes! animate to sate my wait
   I want to RIDE a zebra
 
         savanna grass a grand expanse
            a lion’s roar - hyena's rant 
          amuse myself with peril’s speed
     adventure sows romantic’s seed... so

         gestate date with fancy’s fate
YES! I want to ride a  Z E B R A !

Led Astray

The pregnant moon has led a man astray.
His life, and others too, he’ll devastate.
The plane trip of a fool begins today.

A lunacy infection in him lay
simmering, his heart to penetrate.
The pregnant moon has led a man astray.

For on a night of moon’s full bloom in May,
he saw the face which led him to this gate.
The plane trip of a fool begins today.

His passion for her grew with each foray
estranging him from his kids and dear mate.
The pregnant moon has led a man astray.

She launched his thousand ships, then went away.
His plan , like waxing moon, would soon gestate.
The plane trip of a fool begins today.

Now he waits for take-off on the runway-
not knowing of his flame’s marital state!
The pregnant moon has led a man astray.
The plane trip of a fool begins today.

Jan. 21, 2020 
N/A in Your Best 2019-2020 Villanelle' Poetry Contest
(except for me, it's my ONLY villanelle in a year)
Now I enter it in John Hamilton's 'N-A rerun 5' Contest

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