f..r..o..s..t >gr ps< cra//ck//ed ground
lancet ~w~~i~~n~~d~ sl es solitude
\ic\
s*n*o*w*y silence s i g h s
frost grips frozen ground
lancet winds slice solitude...
snow flakes seam silence
One mystic blue night dead still,
I’ll steal the silver full moon,
break it into sharp shards,
and stow them in the backyard
under the shadow of the creepy cloud.
The dark devils will enter with fiend
my anguished heart beating vengeance,
hit hard by the moonless dreary darkness,
and make my boiling enraged blood
turn into lacerating incisive lancet.
The sinister scarlet elixir in my veins
the night will drink like wine,
the shining sequined full moon lost,
it’ll make a black one hollow,
darker than the dread of doomsday.
When the impious wolves will slash
the neck of the frozen stillness,
their ominous bark in the chilled air
will shred the nocturnal chastity, it's time
for moon plucking from sordid shadow.
They cunningly ensnare in an instant
the naive malleable minds unaware,
skillfully wrap with mute trance
the innocent hearts trapped
in the travesty tangle of love.
I’ll slit open their deceitful throats,
slice the reveling saccharine lips
with the harvested sickle moon.
Frost's
scruples
left behind
for the after
veil— where the sun unsheathes a morning sword
as the natural winter on grass gleams—
its evidence
of the gift
to still
melt.
The cascading contours of the verdant mountain slope
hold me, an upstanding cone of jade coniferous pine,
gilded in gold soaked from the swathe of snow,
turned to mirror flakes by the sun of dawn.
Cinnabar glaze I get from crimson cloud passing
through the twilight gleam to the fiery horizon’s fold.
As the polar wind lancet abrades the frozen topography,
my senses shiver in the winter chill on the tips of needles.
The shroud of silence falls with the drizzle of still night,
the cerulean stardust shines on my silken visage,
shimmering in my dream to slice the misty air,
and soar in the satin sky to touch the stars.
The reverie comes true some other time,
when in festival of joy to a far-off place I go
as the Christmas tree crowned by sapphire stars.
My desire to be with stars is fulfilled in Christmas time
“Fathomless faith gets divine blessings to rise from the entrapping evil marsh” – Quote by Poet
On squalid quicksand you walked obsessed and weary,
gripped by the demons of sin as vicious as they could be,
sank in the destined depth of abhorrent abyss of bane,
wrapped within the despicable layers of livid disdain.
The lancet of immorality lacerated the ethical essence,
you had long tried in vain to protect within sane sense.
The grave for the soul slain by the stab of sordid sin,
you had dug contrite in the ground of anguish within.
As divine awareness ignited the candle of hope in you,
you perceived revived the conscience got kindled anew,
and lighted up the dark alley of introspection inherent,
you reached the self-illumined horizon of discernment.
With your being cleansed of the depraved turpitude slime
by the allusion of self-absorbed sense of sagacity prime,
at the lit fringe of life you see the shadow of the time still
when you were entrapped within the quagmire of evil.
“Winter of despair grips the fallow mind,
as lancet wind of desolation slices solace,
the song of sad bird freezes in silence”- by poet
In the frame of the reclined verdant bough,
opulent with the fine filigree of emerald foliage,
a delicate design I made with love-laced twigs
for the nest of my adoring desire,
I weaved with the finesse of fervor.
On the wings of winter wafting in polar wind,
the wilted leaves of my longing
blew away rustling to the realm of nowhere.
Dismal in my frosted nest on the skeletal tree,
I counted in heartbeat the footsteps of twilight.
My yearning turned into glacial embrace,
you escaped from the fold of frozen love,
flew away far to the sun soaked sky.
Desolate in freezing darkness of the arctic nest,
I live in memory with the frozen feather you left.
_______________
February 17, 2023
Theme chosen : Frozen
Contest : Writing Challenge - F Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Vortice violet.
A shoddy glow of dull light on shadow.
Shine might on ebon canvas.
Dark strikes with heaven's lancet.
Ray by ray day by day grotto,
With thoughts brooded in effluvium.
Contemplating why darkness has been made synonymous with evil.
Yet it's nocturne shrouds and lays safe passage for those oppressed by the light of our current day.
Granting slumber before reawakening; in the glare of expanding and unknown chromas.
Intolerance weaves threads of hatred
in the fabric of our scary times,
innocent blood is shed in madness,
fanaticism spreads like wild fire,
life is splintered by lancet of chaos
into disposable debris uncared,
in the psychic grip of insolent stress
the fostered relationships crash.
Before the world order collapses
I ardently wish the times change,
war-tanks become pianos,
guns form harmonic flutes,
deadly arsenals turn harps,
mercenaries become violins,
and they all perform the symphony
of peace and universal brotherhood.
Before the hourglass breaks,
let the essence of times change,
thorns of contempt turn into flowers,
cactus of hatred into branch of olive,
crooked minds morph into alchemists,
and make the golden strands
that will create the garlands,
intertwining all of us with love.
_________________
June 8, 2022
Contest : If Only My Wish Would Come Ture
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon
ice clasps barren ground
lancet winds slice solitude …
frozen silence splits
January 9, 2021
Contest : Hi-Ku (6) Place Promise
Sponsor : Brian Strand
A wayside plant nobody cared,
bloomed a forlorn flower in spring.
In glint of petals your face flared,
like motif on butterfly wing.
At the edge of instinct luring,
lancet of desire I’d unbared,
plucked the flower on joyful swing,
it saw my inside die unspared.
January 27, 2020
Syllable count : 8 each line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Oh-No A Twisted Char-Lay
Sponsor : Charles Messina
frost grips fallow ground
lancet winds slice solitude -
frozen silence cracks
December 16, 2019
Syllable count : 5/7/5
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Writing Challenge-Winter Haiku Or Senryu
Sponsor : Dear Heart-Wiishkobi Ode
the incisive December winds blow with lancet chill of the arctic cold
through the snow-laden boughs of the defoliated trees, frozen long
in dementia down to the roots, forget once they have been green,
nesting the summer birds, all disappeared in some unknown verdant
pastures beyond the misty horizon from where driving the drifting
cloud clumps the northern zephyr comes whistling and playing in the
winter flute the carol tunes implying Christmas is in the air where my
mind that floats like the feathers of the departed far-away birds in
the ether of joy, filling my heart’s cornucopia with the memorable
moments of the happy times, I’ll share with you all, so from the edge
of the fading year when the new sun will rise with our hearts filled
with hope and bliss we shall embark on another journey on the garden
path, at the end of which
the splendor of dew
shines on bronzed grass of meadow
future green canvas
December 14, 2019
Contest : December Or January Haibun
Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger
SATURATED IN SOLITUDE
The solitary moon moves slow across the still sky
Sprinkles silver dust on the seizing elixir of solitude
I drink to the dregs as the fluid time passes me by
My voice speechless in somber stillness, I know why
The trance of clutching aloneness makes me mute.
Silence soaks within, saturates my mind with serenity
This is what an insular life languished would long to be
Lancet sense of solitary self splits my sole identity
In the void of loneliness I discover my dormant duality
At the silent inner depth I hear me talk with me.
Written : April 14, 2018
April 22, 2020
Contest : Strand Pick B, Any Theme, Any Form
Sponsor : Brian Strand
With every Bannockburn there comes a Boyne.
The gods grant grain, alleviate our lives,
then send us weevils, whitefly, worms (and wives!)
They raise us up – then knee us in the groin
vaulting. Winchester was built on bog.
This marvel of the medieval mind
was sitting on (they were appalled to find),
nine hundred-year-old spongy, soggy logs.
And, year on year, it sagged a little more.
As fissures felt their way around the font,
and lancet windows listed to the west,
so flawed at lauds, and worse at terce for sure:
now none at nones was feeling nonchalant.
The church was sinking slowly to its rest.
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