An incised smile lodges
in a green heart of lily.
A humble suhbeam
enfolded in a melodious brook.
The sedate, marvelous morn.
It is incised into the wondrous ,
delighted,, greenish star ,
The sun is sowed in a melodic ,
amazing orchids.
An unceasing felicity fills
with an enriched, charming
run-let.
An exceptional, great gladness
flooding, the extraordinary
rivulet.
WAITING IN LIMBO
Sitting on the muddy banks
Of faded realities,
Lingering in the spaces of time,
Lost souls struggle:
Seeking another Dreamer.
Powering pawn brokers,
Tighten their mogering grasp
Beyond the setting sun;
Leaving frailed victories festering
And waning in winds of change:-
White opiates coagulate,
Flowing black dreams
Of mesmerized minds;
Oblivious to fading freedoms
Chained and rotting away:-
As time and life sag on,
Let’s not be as a drooping bosom
Sagging due to incised-bleeding;
Rather, let’s be as pregnant wombs
Breaking waters of liberating justice:-
Indeed, let’s scream renewed life,
Nourished keloid-ancestral-navels,
Waxed and hardened by sarcasm
Against the trumping-musky rhetoric
Streaming against democratic equity:-
The darkness shatters.
Silent, mirrored gaze at clouds,
Flowered brook echoes.
Gemmed felicity.
An incised smile
Trimming fat
off his soul
he searched
for the bone
With every
new slicing
his consciousness
honed
All waste in
the fire
to sizzle
and fry
Excesses
like smoke
rise forgotten
— incised
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)
Of course, a clown
is always clowning
as poets paint their write --
before with pen and ink
dip we nibs wells of performance
transforming dark ink
to colorful spectacle in showtime
spot of light -- like the pancake
our many harlequins,
like Arora, a rainbow
after cloudburst
real tears or daisy squirt?
we apply our big-top makeup
to cover-up and hide
otherwise unmanageable crowds
of deeply incised hurt --
‘I was born with the meaning of home running through my veins.’ - Lauren Eden
the road to travel is long
wheels of time turn in last lap
on the path turning to subterranean river
incised within heart
i set sail sanguine
take the route to love
don’t ask the journey’s purpose
for i know from birth
someone will take me to the goldilocks zone
travel contented
in new walkway i pave on hailing terrain
in intimate twilight zone
swathes sky with longing spectrum
nostalgic gleam on the path
shines to take me home
i hear its close call in the whisper of blood
in my veins
plans incised on plain paper
careful calligraphy of a plane
sailing high above the clouds
shrouded in anticipation
veiled in smudges and tears
slowly running out of ink
resolute fears fuel the fire
earthquakes resurface nebulous horizons
and I have not the foggiest idea
uncertainty shapes a landscape
full of thunder and lightening
a sinkhole for rainbows
handing over completely
to what to whom to when
a seeming distraction
at the foot of the rainbow
gold mingles with cold
and heaven freezes over
Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
—Psalm 91:1 NIV
I’m loved by God
safe under his wings and secure
though the world is on its tilted axis
often I’m off balance
pillows are thoughts not as grounded as puffy clouds
I travel over and under arms - memories
of past steps, foretelling future
fluidity of feeling but gently tethered
I read scripture
pray, obey, love my fellow man
in the Spirit, the best I can, perfect
though not in my power
the ethereal takes over and changes lives
lies exposed, incised; friction sharpens, bonds kinship
I touch eyeballs, expose the light
the touch of God felt between us - a first-rate hope
A tumour abated alters and waits.
Pathway incised, a new one it makes.
Spreading and forming, roots growing down.
The moment’s now here, a mighty rebound.
Battle exhausted, the bones ache and crack.
The units expended; yield to the plaque.
Inquiry, anger, negotiations above.
But the body is weakened, aching and done.
“I’m sorry - I’ve tired - but failed in my plight.”
“Nonsense, my son, no fighting tonight.
No orders, no mission, nor failure to bare.
Just love from your father, of that I do swear.”
Dead now, but living. Eyes open, but grey.
Pallid and wasted, a ghost in but name.
A horror unyielding, a memory maligned.
Of which we endure, for moments of time.
For me you’re designed, mesmeric scarred moon,
grace gleams in the convolute cradle of cyan night,
slithers in the silken sky I create for you,
a turquoise trail you trace in my heart incised.
Thunder cloud surges from the edge of stained night,
the debris of the splintered sky swathes me.
You retreat in the glare of anguish lightning,
searing the slivers of my fissured essence.
I travel in the tempest of strife,
serenade the broken notes of an unsung song,
in sync with the symphony of flawed passion,
making untuned melody in the snapped string of memory.
In the blemished visage of the veiled sun,
I paint on the scraped sensual canvas
your frail face with fragmentary fervor,
sedately smiling eyes sparkle my deranged dream.
On the charismatic canvas cracked,
my failing longing lingers in your effervescent eyes.
Etched in the invented lattice of patterned splendor,
your unsplit smile shimmers unspoilt.
Last summer after a long while I enjoyed a dream vacation,
when I was wonderfully filled to the brim with satisfaction.
It was truly worth the hard earned money
to be away from the city life’s cacophony.
I went to an idyllic village in the high Sikkim Himalaya,
where I got what I searched for, the feeling of euphoria.
Perched on the cradle of a deeply incised verdant valley,
from the bungalow the lofty Kanchanjhangha I could see.
At sunrise the snow-laden peak was covered with gold,
the magnificent sight was so mesmerizing to behold.
As silver was smeared on the slopes in moonlit night,
my dormant rapture I felt surging to a new height.
In enchanting loneliness the few days I spent,
I reckoned as the precious gift God had sent.
I returned saturated with the essence of nature’s pure glory,
a piece of art permanently created on the canvas of memory.
___________________
Written : March 30, 2022
Contest : My Dream Vacation
Sponsored by : L Milton Hankins
My heavy heart placed a stone on my eyes of sorrow
Unshed tears collected in the cauldron of deep sorrow.
Your demise had shattered my heart, it silently wept in woe
Words formed out of pain, remained unsaid in deep sorrow.
The deluge of grief drowned the memory shards sinking slow
The anchor disappeared within the shadow of deep sorrow.
In incised vale of agony as silent stream tears began to flow
It was lost in the searing sand of dismal desert of deep sorrow.
The touch of sympathy and words of calm kindness though
Soothed the splintered mind, lifted the shroud of deep sorrow.
Flood surge came, swept my composure away, why I didn't know
I couldn’t hold my heart melting in the eyes in deep sorrow.
______________
February 28, 2022
For A Brian Strand Formed Poetry Contest
MONDRIAN
Fluid interaction
of poise & rhythm
spirals float
linear lines
circular shapes
small scale
fascination of freshness
perception personified
touches the eye
of the beholder
A floating tension
between weight&
lightness
reflections &
symbolic sensations
abstract &realism
combine
in tactile relief
long incised lines
of beauty
where enigma lies
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
when her shadow cracked
fragments entered her mind
shards of false gold
pierced façade and persona
left her in pieces
splintered images and illusions
the mask had been held tight
a rope strangled the puppet
clown’s grimace incised
by strings of attachment
and forced assimilation
a mirage in the making
projection of fake courage
pied piper tune on the march
dissonant shrieking contour
silhouette of crushed empty words
with no choice left
she picked up the pieces
and timid surface tension
adhered to the task
of reconstructing a narrative
without othering
gendering
ab-normalising all rupture
when she looked at the mosaic
the patchwork montage
appeared more sustainable
self-sufficient and rewarding
as the sum of all parts
had been hidden in a whole
where the light needed to fill
crevices and fissures
and she began to accept
time lines and gaps
which assembled
the shape of outlines
of necessary change
12th August 2021
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