LOCUS
In that space
I knew, silence
I knew, ugliness
She pulled on her bow
The silhouette of muscle
Under flesh
The sound
Of a million breaths
All, a singularity
A locus, our universe blooms
A medium
For understanding
The true measure of beauty
Who, has seen what I see
Who, has heard what I hear
So much courage is willed to the senses
Such is our obsession to witness
I have known true beauty in the simplest of things
Yet, been wounded by it's presence, but once
roc
Jacqueline du Pré - cellist
(26 January 1945 – 19 October 1987)
lo·cus
'lok?s
noun
1.
TECHNICAL
a particular position, point, or place.
2.
MATHEMATICS
a curve or other figure formed by all the points satisfying a particular equation of the relation between coordinates, or by a point, line, or surface moving according to mathematically defined conditions
Intimacy’s locus
found midst a crowd
Drops of rain on two tongues
laughing out loud
crimson sky collapsed
in trance ~
distant shore swooning —
dissolved baleen …crescent moon landed
in sunset s p l e e n ~
narrowing focus to locus ______
____________________________________
Bronze Winner: Shortform Poetry
Prompt : crimson haze
Allpoetry. com : May 26
Your life is poetry—
whether words make it
on a page, a screen, an ear,
whether messages
or moments
meet the light of dawn,
parturition processed
sourced from the dusk
of fears and hopes.
You are ebbs
you are flows—
you are metaphors
blooming till they grow feeble
crinkling into fallen flowers,
meeting millipedes
meeting mess—
to grow again
anew—stalks sturdy—
hope an approaching fire
Flower,
Locus,
Living.
Bliss fixates our attention
upon formless awareness,
that in timeless time we see,
light of our true Self.
Art is the kingly snow-cap on learning's height;
It forms as great minds enter saturation range.
It's a crowning beam that shines to truly show,
That the lettered brain has finally come of age.
Artistic flair is the finest of divine human skills.
It's the life-giving power in the Creator's mouth
That formed solid originals from old airy chills,
Naming in full naught arbitrary west and south.
Art is the queened stroke behind true science.
Her restless instinct and wild wandering signs
Are the sole philosophy fuelling erudite minds;
Man’s only spark that all prudent reason binds.
And fine poetry is the most knowing of earth's arts,
Far mightier than sibling genres beneath our stars.
Nifty verse gets brighter as every lower sister blurs,
To show the path as the initial dark's oblivion starts.
Sublime art is thus the neglected locus classicus;
And to spurn poetry is to adore ignorance's curse.
Lilac’s Locus
Clouds in contrast,
as night fades...
Hidden in the shadow-dark, underfoot -
astride the windblown crinkle-leaf of
a season ago, a violaceous crocus begins to dream
of the end of the dream-
time
and the skybowl (soon!) of light.
Cut through the indigo,
a black-fletched line;
one single goose.
Now two.
Focus, the master key that unlocks
Stoutly locked doors to your future
Feeds on discipline that blocks
Distractions and fractious fractions in your culture.
Focus, the gismo that breaks
Deadlocks and tames dreadlocks
In your environment where reckless wrecks
Catalyse red herrings teeming with simplistic spokes.
Focus, the catalysis that fires up your determination
To soldier on in spite of red herrings
Threatening to derail your momentous mission
As your momentum disentangles itself from surrender strings.
Focus, the factory that fabricates strategies
Techniques and methods to realise your potential
As you embark full throttle on your mission despite elegies
Composed and crooned in celebrations detractors deem essential.
Once when wandering deep in space
I chanced on an idyllic place
that seemed too wondrous to exist…
At night with moonlight it was kissed
as though with glowing beams of love.
By day a star shone from above
while crystal waters danced in streams.
Was this a fairyland of dreams?
The skies of lapis lazuli
were truly beauteous to see.
Forests, meadows emerald green
lent sylvan lushness to the scene
rife with songbirds sweetly trilling,
perfumed blooms in colors thrilling,
myriad marvels small and great—
oh so much to appreciate!
And yet the beings dwelling there
barely even appeared to care,
nor to grasp the fathomless worth
of their heavenly planet earth…
~ Harley White
Two activities I love have a similarity,
To experience and conjecture in verse,
And to explore limits of certainty.
Rhyme and meter, whether wordy or terse,
Enact seeing freshly, banning banality.
Math proofs are finding a needle in a hay source,
Needing imagination to reach finality.
Many school veterans curse,
“Algebra is not daily reality!”
“Trigonometry makes life worse!”
But poetry and math have a commonality,
They both tease out how the world works,
Neither rewards conventionality,
Both work by seeing the diverse.
I admit rote formulas draw my enmity,
Whether in word or number universe.
I’ve found in sonnets and theorems an equality,
If you disagree, you can rightfully call this poem a hearse.
Through the streets i followed
Not believing my eyes
Three carrying crosses
Only two of them cried
We reached a place
Called the hill of the skull
Golgotha " Calvariae Locus "
Calvary hill
Three holes in the soil
Were awaiting their fate
One for above
And two for hells gate
Bloodied and nailed
Impaled on natures wood
To quiet a faith
This is all they could
Their efforts were in vain
As higher powers intervened
When i looked through my eyes
On that Calvary hill scene
What did the Romans fear
From the one who wore the thorns
He who the people followed
For in the morning will be reborn
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-6.php
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
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.