Your smile beckons my heart
To come
As soothing rays of the sun
Nurturing famished hearts with warmth
As keys to the essence of your soul
Unlocking golden secrets yet untold
As stirrings of a gentle but persistent wind
Generously caressing both lovers and friends
As welcoming as a long-lived tree
A familiar yet majestic thing of beauty
Your smile beckons my heart
To come
Some say April is the cruelest month, leaving
Lilacs upon unmarked graves, grieving
Memories fading and desires, aching
To be filled as the undertaker, undertaking
Daydreams of warmer hands and seaside towns
Some say September is the cruelest, harkening
Back to wounds still so very deep, darkening
The sky and every teary eye that looks up, searching
For a dove, a crow, a bluebird, perching
On a branch beside a single leaf of brown.
Like a painting.
Almost the same thing,
Except not so flat.
And more than that-
Blooming effortlessly.
As if by destiny.
But its true fate,
Is for its beauty to abate.
That is what happens to an eclipse.
After a moment, time will elapse.
Colors that move on.
Feels like waking up at dawn.
This afternoon,
Is not full of doom.
Just a moment of shade.
Harkening a halo of jade.
Thank you sun, thank you moon.
We hope to see another show soon!
Night filters sight and sound
into separate caves of awareness,
Owls and nightjar's duet
in different tunnels of time.
For generations
the forest has gathered here,
it has its own language,
one rooted through layers
of nocturnal sentience.
In the harkening cabin
sounds interface,
lull mind and ears,
into imaginary auditoriums.
Subliminal arboreal words
read me to sleep -
thoughts rustle like
whispering leaves.
Lead point scratching
Pink eraser scrubbing,
Ticking time catching
My eyes, I'm rubbing
Inspiration sparing
Rhyme and word fighting,
White lines staring
Thumb and finger writing
Yellow #2 shrinking
Lines ever darkening,
My eyelids blinking
My mind harkening
Hours ever zooming
Crumpled paper piling,
Good enough is looming
I find myself smiling.
I am known
for all the subject and matter
that I will never know.
At first light a cool breeze
drops the small humming bugs
from flagging brush and tree.
The stabled horse and I have not met,
yet in a distant stall I hear him wake up
from his statuesque reverie,
shuffle and fart – become a part of
this harkening.
The fields are covered in cuckoo spit
where the dew strings it droplets,
fungi creak open, spores dust
a fecund earth in heat.
I am unknown yet
just as the sky is, as it waits to be painted.
Listening, I hear through a keyhole
drilled through an echoing skull.
A cat wants to come inside
so I let myself out.
What is that central pole
does it hold up a voice like a brazen spine?
And the many rooms
all of them built to be seen
with no modesty nor privacy.
Rooms where the talking clacks
never pausing, never harkening.
There are mouths
in the air free-floating.
This artless architecture, does it say itself
as a poem does?
Or does it clatter and broadcast its presence
turning, revolving as a display will.
There are holes in this unstructured edifice,
holes where mice
go to eat their own bones.
Look! It is a brain, it is calcified
a rabid ego haunts it.
Can it be covered up, subdued, made to speak
only when spoken to?
Or is it a robotic manikin that will drive your being
while you sleepwalk
through its hollow domain?
When a smile gives you a reason to liv
How can affection not be the first thing you choose to give
When a kiss gives you a long forgotten tingle
Harkening back to the days when the world was single
When looking into your eyes makes me see the stars
Like I just witnessed a super nova burst from a far
You are so incredible that words can not describe
What my soul, my heart, my essence, my spirt does derive
From just seeing your beautiful eyes come alive
Harkening back to the grandeur of Greece and Rome
The dark fog of repression would slowly lift
Long cloistered souls found a brighter home
Minds free to create, no greater gift
10/29/22
This Or That, Vol 14 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
*Image of Vulnerability by The Conversation.
Coma
Endeavoring eyes opened
to the nothingness ere it.
Harkening labyrinths aches
to the silence yond.
Alone spoke I and
loneliness echoed
in faint whispers.
There remains
a trace of me
airing silently
the breath of
belonging.
Inspired: 2022 March 28
*7th Place*
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 4
~~Mark Toney: Judged 2022 June 25
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND 1098
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 30
Fiery Flames of mornings early light,
A lonesome bird caws, then soars in flight
An illuminated sky, streaked in strains of grey,
Harkening the advent of another day
Phantom clouds pause, slowly passing by;
Wistful trees, shedding their seasonal display,
Winter, is not far away
September’s end descended swiftly
on the island of Manitou, as dark clouds
and strong winds vanquished yesterday’s
sun, bringing gray skies and cold rain.
In the fields, sandhill cranes gather,
then lift, en masse, silhouetted against
a sombre sky, their raucous cries harkening
to prehistoric times as they disappear across
the horizon following the east wind which
will carry them to Michigan and beyond.
We lower our heads and pedal on.
And as you see
or do not see
my friend
I continue to walk
It matters very little to me
what has been said against me
This being clearly said
here I am a bedouin
on the hardly being taken road
I am a warrior
whose feet are his blade and sword
I walk with little talk
resting at one time
Harkening at another
with my heart looking out
east and west
south and north
I stand up when I fall
and continue to walk
up and up as a flying bird
who carries his nest
in his heart along
I walk and listen to the songs of life
not knowing if I should cry or sing
I walk, my friend,
I definitely walk
till I meet my smiling fate
and find the garden of spring.
— Chokri Omri
(Tunisia, May 2021)
The void holds all within its fold, unbound
One with all, as love gong within resounds
Being cause and effect, of the bliss squall
Coiled spring thus, harkening the divine call
A mist of bliss, yet with feet on firm ground
Still fulcrum of the merry-go-around
Within our heart, we hear the soundless sound
Transcendental bliss that each node enthralls
The void holds all
Cave of our heart, is where this joy is found
Rapture beyond measure, within abounds
When our playful presence, with love plays ball
The nectar divine, becomes our cure-all
Illumined within form, we are thus crowned
The void holds all
21-March-2021
“Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
sure beginning.”
Passing Time: Poem by Maya Angelou
Harkening all the way back to the origin of time
I ponder conjectures about the theory of Big Bang--
A moment that exploded into infinite expanse,
And I wonder if this ticking clock will ever stop
Collapsing on self into ashes of nothingness
Or will it keep stretching space on eternal path;
Its existence, compared to mine, incredibly vast--
I am just a speck of dust in its cosmic compass--
A spot on its continuum, born in recent past.
Living in my present I can easily retrace steps,
No theories are needed to ascertain my start;
And unlike this universe that goes on and on,
My end is as assured, as beginning of end was.
July 5, 2020
Time – 8 Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: A Dear Heart
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.