The Tenth month
What is there to say about
about a perfect day, the first of October
when the sun is infused with silver
A few cumuli look like a bride's belt
a sky that has pale blueness
bathed in the mystical haziness of dreams
The limitless seeking understanding
why oak leaves fall and grass takes
on the color auburn and lemon hue
In supple silence, I hear animals getting
ready for a white landscape, the long
rest before a new spring explodes
Do not sleep this day be aware, feel
the dust free air and nuanced harmony
of a moment that will not reappear
I'm climbing on my dreams
Though with no ties to bed;
Like a child's playground scene
That rests on curtain's nest—
Shadows of restless trees.
I'm climbing on my dreams
Blankets camp out on floor;
As the glass window cries
From my touch following
Limbs twirling in dark eyes.
I'm climbing on my dreams
A stance where bark whimpers
For my pillow out, cold—
There my bosom heaving
With tenses of my own.
I'm climbing on my dreams
Moon plays the forest's place,
As lids dip in silver—
Dreams come with haziness;
Tongue in leaves remembers.
It is said that the world is quite strong.
When we both agreed, we were wrong.
But systemic risk leads to a spare call.
And it makes life hazy, as we shall.
When weak surfeit fulfills incisive inquiry,
the diction is made utterly dull and wiry.
Implied options for a farewell gathering
The effect is similar to lathering.
A dreadful jester with mixed craziness.
When guilt clouds your eyesight, haziness
A genuine illusion and a shaky submission
You are vigilant in the face of recognition
Lacking a faithful foe as a recent symbol,
To a mindset that is wrong at its core.
For the moral majority, act proudly humble,
to develop skills in each particular sector.
While skilled amateurs and realistic untaught,
assist fetch harmony to the dissonance.
This reliable test incites calm unthought.
That is aimed straight at the outer imminence.
It requires steadfast cynicism and rustic grace,
so as to withstand this negative preening.
And sway away from school without a trace,
to allow the word "normal" a fresh meaning.
Written: September 29, 2022
elysian
adorned with faultless time-dream
bits of insight
trigger dim emotions
memory gives warmness
spooky how light needs
haziness to thrive
drew me away from
odyssey I cling to
Inner peace exists in the sky
awaken the sun
egg-yellow in tone
In the midst of
oceanic aurora with blue shells
Half bleared-eye
embraced in soul stance
of shrewdness
as though prevail
intertwined
In a vast ocean of you
forgotten rootless
cast to the verge
we each
without lacking land
Written: June 24, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Spring tints convey,
a piece of paradise.
The sky is cloudless,
alongside soaring birds.
Shards of haziness
toss stars without a tune.
This ends my message,
seek delight in times of strife.
1ST PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Written: April 06, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND STANDARD Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
On the exquisite wings of fated infinity.
We move with subtle elegance and fluidity.
To sail into odd space on a vessel of silence.
It is clearly the domain of the swanky credence.
I desired you to be hither on a grisly day.
Hardship had exhausted my psychic spray.
I hailed you while gazing at your charm.
On the verge of a crux in winsome smarm.
Here you'll find the hustle and bustle.
We will rest and unwind as the term shuffle.
After you've aged through the up and down.
Our stature in a senders mod panel is known.
I'd been deprived of any expectation, developed.
The pre-winter light was precisely what I scorned.
What's beyond, yelled out, "Let the haziness in!"
The portly flare ought to be turned until the spleen.
We are enjoying areas that are beyond our side.
When we beget to maturity, all effort has died.
You can willingly view we've arrived at the wallow.
Waivers serve as the lessons we should follow.
Written: November 09, 2021
This or That, Vol 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Humming Humbleness
Harmony Heroism
Hustling Hesitancy
Hugging Haziness
Hopeful Hues
Happy Haggles
Howling Hurricanes
Honey Hicks
Hacked Heart
In the fetal position, in leaks of rust and rot, in the wet self-dug grave, a pushy dead man is passing time. An evasiveness of words, a haziness of consolations, a thorough count of merits and sins and the fear of death - they're gone: he’s finally dead. Oh, how he loves the certainty of death! Perhaps, probably, maybe. Life is clouded by uncertainty. Let's leave the vagueness of adverbs for the living… Suddenly, footsteps! voices! a golden pipe’s call! Now, any moment, a sentence will be announced: the darkness or the light where to, may be… Oh, no, he’s thinking “may be” as if he were alive!
Life, death, existence…
Oh, unbreakable impasse!
Taphotherapy*.
* A voluntary and temporary burial for therapeutic or meditative purposes.
17.05.2019
Pick A Title, Vol 4 - Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Fall asleep
When back to dream land,
Its a hard life...
A life with no rules, it's fun though!
Can't wake up:
nothing but deep dreams and nightmares,
Slopes and pinnacle pins
Chosen kings and jealous men,
O malady... It's a strange world!
Spin in circles and see,
Break through the haziness.
Took shoots but missed-
Just Dizziness and setbacks,
Records and tapes
CDs and cassettes,
Dreams and visions
Death and more death
A sad dream, a blue night
Bloody moon nothing gets
more terrifying than the heavens falling down!
Chaotic energy filling the spheres
Turning the blue to red,
A mash up: a clown season
Hahaha...the laughter
Bye bye...year after!
RAINBOW BELLS
Belittlement of sea and sky with blue
and green entitlement - unfocused lens
of stormy clime — the darkening of hue
in whites of shellacked eyes, aplomb of friends
does drown in haziness. They drink his tears —
the absinthe of their cloudy souls deplete.
Inside the whitewashed tomb, awake to fears.
Those hoppy beers lack taste with sins to greet.
Unexpected — her sunshine fingers lift
his icy lids — the melt like Everest.
Believe in miracles unceasing gift.
The chromatic breath of an angel blessed.
The blinding paste has dealt with former sins.
Arise to rainbow bells as life begins.
8/16/2018
There are things
I’d want to tell you
But they lie so deep
Under a haze of confusion
That it isn’t possible
To see them clearly
They are there perplexing
Yet not so mysterious
They whisper of the known
Of the unknown
They sigh of love
Caring and needing
Sometimes in a moment of stillness
I hear your name
On their every breath
Submitted on December 18, 2018 for contest END DECEMBER 2018 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
Submitted on March 12, 2018
Good morning
A kind of high intensity light
Of the scorching sun white
And eyes in dry state tide
Trying to open in haziness
But as the laziness
Overpower the body logic
And seems lethargic
In every sense
Like a sense organ tense
Goining again to sleeps
If enthusiam not there it weeps
Finally it rejuvenate and open again keeps
With a new piece of thought light
And start its twilight
Looking out at the vast empty spaces
The silence allows time to reflect.
Gazing out, there's no one looking back
The calmness in the air has the desired effect.
The trees afar are moving, gently in the breeze
And flowers rustle, with effortless motion.
The calm allows for thought to manifest
Ebbing back and forth like the rhythm of the ocean.
Looking out a haziness drifts in
Encompassing your mind, disturbing your sight.
Darkness and confusion begin to settle
Striving in the empty space to find some light.
This is for the lack, the journey on the way back.
Trying to find a place that once felt like home.
A poem to keep me around so I don't roam.
To see if anybody out there was keeping track.
I walked out into the fog thinking this was it.
No where left to turn without getting hit.
Each step was heavier than the last.
The haziness inside my heart was heavily cast.
Now you know so long ago that I was scared as hell.
To find myself here today answering the toll of the bell.
The fog has lifted and I think that I see clear.
But I'm still not too sure just where I should steer.
The path beyond the journey is only for the grave.
The frightened soul win's only if they are brave.
Fantasy is store bought praise, nary worth a dime.
Staring life right in the face, I think that it is time.
Reminiscing the threshold in infinity,
I seek the dimension of our curiosity,
Invisible threads then form,
In the making of an invincible bridge in that storm...
Haziness, vivid and incomplete bliss,
Where threesome snake of love nastily hisses,
On the golden neck, I plant those kisses,
Where the heartbeats from the niche hitches...
Nights of dipped melancholy,
Pens won't turn impeccably,
Hallucinations of holding fingers steadily,
Waking up from this dream and facing the reality...
I I
Timid and broken wings,
The feeble pegion smiles and sings,
The pain in ankle continues to sting,
From beak, falls an abandoned ring,
Which the pegion shoves,
When my soul floats in the dead pegion,
Beak breaks to smile and and looks at the flying dove!
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