The pool unfolds like a satin strip,
a tapestry of turquoise stillness.
Sunlight stuck on its facade,
a glass sheet spread to shatter.
A maroon reflective house
shadowed by two leaning palms,
their hushed fronds, the indolent onlookers,
impersonate the silent sky.
A violent bloom of serrated purity
in the stretch of sapphire serenity,
stillness splintered by the frenetic spout.
The splash, the chaotic vista,
a coronet of fluid wonder,
epitomizes the geometry of fading disarray,
interlacing the memories of elation,
rolling over the painted silence.
Inspired by A Bigger Splash by David Hockney (1967)
Written as a tribute to the departed painter.
frost refracts m
o
o
n
b
e
a
m
s
prismatic interlacing
lights waltz seamlessly
Flames swallow oxygen,
duplicitous in their deeds,
circumventing steel barriers—
steel barriers doubling over.
Ashen soot cakes the walls;
walls crumble, interlacing with soot.
Pyres of fire lick the night sky;
crimson smoke suffuses the air.
Breathing in microparticles,
microparticles sticking
to fibrous membranes—
breathing collapses.
Lit match—ignition,
cinders glow.
order growing complexity flowing
interlacing bonds creating
sl o o o w w w ly assembling
mother nature's love
a seed establishes r
o
o
t
s
shyly extends tendrils ~~~
ignition TEMPERature flashes, nothing left but
ashes
.
.
.
a seed
establishes roots
shyly extends tendrils
In me is a spark divine.
A vivid light that shines within,
Lifting the pall and connecting me
With God and my fellow beings.
Let me be, what God intended me to be:
Neither a wicked elf, nor a fairy godmother,
Never a demon, nor an angel,
But a true woman,
One with a loving heart,
Calm and caring,
With passionate dreams of love and laughter.
I enquire what my true design is-
In my life, love and light is all I seek,
As I know there is no greater gift than love.
With God on my side and by His blessing,
I wish to gracefully run towards the finishing line,
Feeling the strength running through my veins,
When years slip past in the blink of an eye.
How gracefully God does guide my ways!
Embracing the divine each day,
I try to piece together different roles.
Let me into a close-knit texture weave,
The fabric of my life,
Like the interlacing threads
Of a great tapestry!
In a way, is not living the art of quilting
Bringing out unique patterns,
Of exquisite beauty and delight
From the scraps thrown in our way!
I never reached out for your hand—
Fingers interlacing, hearts intertwining.
My words blistered on my tongue,
And I tucked the unanswered glances
Back into silence,
Like love letters never sent.
What do I do with the love I couldn't give?
I'll bleed it onto blank white pages,
Ink running from my arteries.
My stanzas will contain
The glory of my memories,
And my metaphors will cradle
A heart too heavy for your hands.
I'll write us into existence—
A universe where you know
What it means
To be loved.
I'll carve my ache into rhythm.
My tears will fall in poetic cadence,
And my agony will rhyme.
I'll fight the ugly beast—
Time—
So that I never forget
That you existed
And that I didn't get to keep you.
The profound feeling-
giddy with the triumph of its reach,
that everything and nothing is wrong.
I dream I'm waking
in my American bed
from another time. But
the times keep interlacing
like lovers' restless fingers.
Like intercrossing networks
on a computer screen.
And she's always there.
And he's always there.
And waking reality has no backdrop
for this storyline.
But sometimes in the mornings'
thoughtless peace, I flip through pages
of a book until my fingers trace
the vibrations of myself. Rarely
does it take very long.
There's a man who found solace
in a glee that had no place.
And a woman who expected
only rubbish so she kept getting
more of something slightly better.
And another man told another woman
he ached for her, so she followed home.
And one more who in thoughtful respect,
laughed in the face of death just so
she could see what it was like. Why not?
She said to anyone who'd listen.
This all comes wrapped in various forms
of shadow interlaced by light.
That's what the books tell me.
Teotl is the shining gold light above everything
Wearing a mask of white and grey clouds
Teotl is the breath and wind of all seen and unseen
Greeting all who return to its arms
Split a piece of wood, hear a heart pulsating within
Lift a rock, smell fine incense burning
Open up a flower bud, see threads interlacing
Know the turquoise snake shedding its skin
Be reborn as a splendid tlamatini
Remaining on the straight narrow road
Be a passer-by on the slippery land of mud
Walking between maguey and thorns
Walking towards the golden light shining above clouds
Poem inspired by Saying 77 of the Gospel of Thomas combined with Aztec philosophy (especially the concept of "Teotl")
On a cold, stormy October night,
In the hours of lingering twilight.
Beneath the haunting full moon,
Brought a white ghostly goon,
Screaming fears of an ancient rune.
The wind driven underneath eaves,
Interlacing through trees and leaves,
Scratching on the window-glass,
With intense bitterness as shadows pass.
Slumber and dreams haunted by the crass,
Slow, flowing sand in the hourglass.
Tap, tap, tap we hear at the door.
In terror, open the door. There, four
Puddles of water left on the floor.
Darkness peering in beneath
The fog, the dog, a bone between its teeth.
10/13/2022
12-16 Lines Of A Scary Halloween Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
VAINGLORIOUS
arranged within
a sanctuary
sparkles
fragmentary
tactile
original
&bespoke
alongside a replica
of significance
perhaps
motifs
upend & reflect
the tensions
emblazoned
in swirling
decoration
interlacing
flowing
contemporary
imagery
evoking
a marble
commemoration
NOTE: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
AND SHE BEGAN TO WRITE...
Let me tell you a story
Of how a girl began to write ~
She loved her third grade teacher -
Soft, kind, thoughtful - a shining light;
She had another teacher,
Who taught her English's magic trick,
Inspired her to work with words,
Sharpened her language, made it slick;
She fell in love with the forms,
the rhythm and rhyme of poetry;
Since then, with her pen, she's been
Interlacing word tapestry;
I think you'd have guessed by now,
I write about my writing trip,
If not for my professors,
I wouldn't have honed my penmanship;
Forever grateful to God
for such gurus who guided me,
I wouldn't be where I'm today
sans them to help my writing spree.
27th April, 2022
Posted on 30th April, 2022
Syllable count: 7.8.7.8
Form: Rhymed Narrative
"Fly me high through the starry skies
Maybe to an astral plane
Cross the highways of fantasy
Help me to forget today's pain"- A stanza from Gary Wright's "Dream Weaver"
In dreams that drift as surely as the sand
along the banks of oceans in my mind,
he wanders in, and with his skillful hand,
adds shape and hue to scenes yet undefined.
I never know what feelings he’ll invoke,
what things I’ll touch or taste or hear or see.
He makes – with every interlacing stroke
of brilliant yarns – enthralling imagery!
He weaves me in with people or alone -
in states of bliss. . . at times in peril’s way!
Another twist . . . I wear a face unknown
or soar! The unexplained I can’t gainsay.
Awake, I little know of fancy’s flight,
for Weaver thrives in shadows of the night.
For Brian Strand's 'ALL YOURS (May 16)' Poetry Contest
May 2, 2021
For Line Gauthier's What's In A Title In 14-20 Lines Poetry Contest
grand garden at Giverny
are gems gorgeously
nestling near a warm abode
where golden path lies beneath
in thick impasto and rugged strokes
transforming terrestrial moment
into amaranthine beatitude
baggy brush movement
of varied greens~
transposing from soft geneva
to gecko and genoa
interlacing with periwinkle petals
blended with amethyst and magenta
unfurling paradisaical artist's milieu
teeming trees reflect
dappled sunshine
in exuberant flora
resembling your eyes
exuding ethereal joy~
every time you look at me
30 April 2021
For "All Yours (April 30) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
Notes:The Artist's Garden at Giverny (French:Le Jardin de l'artiste à Giverny) is an oil on canvas painting by Claude Monet done in 1900 now the Musée d'Orsay, Paris.
It is one of many works by the artist of his garden at Giverny over the last thirty years of his life. ( Photo and info credits to Wikipedia)
Simply put it,
I want you
Please
Oh please
Say you want me too
I know you do
Said he to her
How can I ever refuse
Your voice
Over the phone
The sound waves that is carried
To me
Low and soft and sweet
His eyes
Deeply set,
Mysterious with a crinkle of a smile
Playfully cocky
The words interlacing into
Ceaseless conversations
Smooth as the silk sheets of the
Most exquisite Egyptian cotton
Calm as the tides kissing the shore
Into the night
Till the break of dawn
Somethings are too good to be true
Fifty fifty mix of fear and thrill
Fate?
Destiny?
I’ll take that bet my friend
Life’s too short
To be afraid to take the leap
And baby
I’m taking the leap
As the day comes to a close
Dwindling shorter
Each and every single day
As the warmth leaves our mouths
Materializing into winter spirits
As fall leaves us
And winter is welcomed like an old friend
As the earth proceeds on its last and final round
Round the Sun
Our minds begin to wonder
What was this
What was this revolve
Did I evolve
Did I take the road less travelled by
more than
Staying in the zone of comfort
What is this chapter coming to?
A thrilling cliffhanger?
An end of an era?
Once the pages are flipped
There's no turning back
Eyes straight ahead
On the road
Hands on the wheel of fortune ladies and gentlemen
Luck is on our side
It's a fine brisk winter breeze
The snow sparkling under the winter blue moon
The reds and blues
Interlacing into a breathtaking violet moira
12/12/2020
Winter and Emile Pinet
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