Long Bedeck Poems
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The sun dappled patio
irresistibly beckoned
pillowed pad to bedeck
cement spongsbob
square pant sized couch cushions
leapt into field of view
as a posse able a gent
provocateurs silently
conspiring as from
azure heavenly vault sent
thus busying mine hands created
simple bed to cradle this loner meant
as temporary escape from cares
and concerns of uncertain world rent
asunder by craven, frenzied, intractable,
lamentable, offal, rogues hell bent
on up-ending peaceful co-existence
across terrestrial plane where decent
folks (including this writer) live
to enjoy simple pleasures
donned with raiment
acquired thrift-store or yard sale couture
affordable dollar, quarter or cent
thus bagged belongings
comprise wardrobe
since personal preference
to expand content
of body, mind, and spirit triage
in tandem drinking warmth
of solar rays event
like manna to this *****Sapiens,
who when basking
pondered where time went
and on picture perfect summer day
pastoral symphony of nature lent
removed bifocals
to let photons of el sol
this archetype
laughingstock wannabe
of Clark Kent
unaware spouse surreptitiously
snuck up perhaps
to steal a kiss or other pent
up animalistic call of the wild,
which elements of huss style
anathema to a convent
where such nun sense
would be abominable,
but secular mores fervent,
especially when
weather fires imagination
as witnessed by 59+ year spent
mortal male oblivious
to presence of wife
until she planted buttocks and bent
bifocals camouflaged
by matted materiel of a fold-up
metal chair which accent
of Gluteus Maximus crushed
side of frame wear
sole pair of spectacles dent
dislodging right side lens thus
to see in sharp focus
cheeky fate did prevent.
The little divine droplets of water bedeck
The shoots and leaves, all around spread
Over the tract and the rough rocky bed ,
As the soft seemly drizzles at the day-break
Infuse an enlivening pleasure into the air ;
The shiny pearls and the lustre- pendent ,
Though for a short spell and moment ,
Enchant the vision beyond all fancy flair ;
Some hours past, the reviving cool breeze
Brings forth the tidings of fresh ,new life
To all the spread over fauna- flora rife ;
And booming twitters hail from the abiding trees.
Bhagirath stood for years many ,and long
In ascetic penance, for the sacred flow ,
That he might redeem for ever, his kin-row :
Souls, aged, from the infinitely cursed wrong ,
And regain the ethical poise on the whole ;
To salvage and deliver She did descend ;
With ablutions, absolve them and mend :
Purge, save , recharge and liberate the soul ;
Oh! the holy spell of the sacred waters
Which aye, generate , protect and restore ,
And beyond the infinite ages carry, far more ,
The spirit and essence of throb in splatters .
Sprinkles and droplets dripped ,bring back
Even the morbid ones from the mortal way ,
That the vain soul might, if not longer stay,
And seek the path of solace from the rack ;
Wrathful pours and the scaring thunder
Are but the varied pitched dissent punitive;
No trial ordeal of the primeval and primitive
Or of erudition of wonder ; just tear asunder !
The dancing cascades , springs or the deluge
Voicing and enacting the vivacious glamour ,
Depict the be -all and end- all of all clamour ,
Of odd disasters that ensue misuse of refuge !
*****
"She " refers to the River Ganga and Bhagirath of ikshwaku lineage says the lengend brought the river down to the earth to save the souls of his forefathers from condemnation.
seagulls surf the wind
my escorts home
across the waves
streamlined gannets
sacred isle in view
saffron tints
ocean flower breezes
with scents of heather mingled
island essence
rites of spring
frolicking hares
scattering morning dew
eagles flying high
above the pagodas
sharing with angels
spectral in shadows
castle walls in moonlight
white stag foraging
eloquent landscape
shrouded in mists of time
stones with stories
ears pricked on full alert
deer transfixed in morning mist
ice cracks the silence
snow on distant hills
wind in ancient rowans
new stars twinkling
melting ice
slips down stippled bark
weeping cherry
beyond the twisted gate
flag irises bedeck the shore
beloved playground
fragile and fleeting
foxgloves in summertime
granite enfolded
exotic rhododendrons
sumptuous and alluring
bumblebees besotted
by the waterfall
dippers watching
trickle or torrent?
rhythmic shoreline
ageless slumbering hills
touching paradise
music for the soul
the lilting of the seasons
an Arran symphony
home again, my soul refreshed,
pilgrimage complete.
with Arran heath beneath my feet,
content- and feeling blessed.
The golden hues scatter, they age, stepping softly into the twilight,
Velvet angels of summer falling, amid leaves seeking the calm of the earth,
Gardens of grapes, unripened purple gems, with sweet blood untouched by sun,
And I, the armorer of autumn, forging upon it, an armor of remembrance.
Beneath the emerald vault, ephemeral stories breathe their last,
In a twilight of oblivion where migratory thoughts seek shelter,
And your gift, the quintessential fruit that has burst the day's attire, ripening just upon the slope,
In my palm becomes art unfolding, the verses defining their purpose.
A masterful lied flows through my veins, melting the forests of words,
Transforming corrupted poetry into a creature of ice that moans beneath the sun's trails,
Descend, angel, into this citadel of emotion and sign the pact, to be united,
To taste, to feast on the sweetness of your evening, under the cloak of stars of the anonymous night.
Pale wings, torn by longing, dissolve their song in the pain of the silence that follows,
Time, harsh judge, stretches forth its edict, designates my sentence,
With your aroma, your autumnal flush of pulp, with an undefined fleshly scent,
In the celebration of falling fruits, I bedeck my condemnation in ecstasy.
I will pluck you, a perpetual harvest in the chamber of my thoughts,
From you, I receive autumn, as an invitation into the palace where nectar is king,
In nights when constellations, one by one, slowly dim their lights,
Signing the sky of night, gliding across your body, weaving the ineffable magic of poetry.
In my nightly tryst upon my bed
in dreams cupids arrow takes its flight
with the chilling visions in my head
memories long ago with in the night
Of nights where I dwell in marbled halls
and ancient ornate rugs bedeck the floors
and tapestries do cover all the walls
and molding gilded gold upon her doors
Upon the stairs in running I take flight
and fear is chiseled upon my mortal bones
men have entered with weapons in the night
and behind I hear the screams and groans
Or nights I float through homes of glass
and beneath I watch the waters silvery flows
overhead the clouds of copper pass
and in the greenhouse fruit aplenty grows
Or dwell I in a home thats not my own
and out step I to see the vanishing sun
a maleviolent cloud proceeds to its dome
and clothed in black becomes our earthly home
Or wearing robes of white I cast my crown
laying prostrate with my face to ground
knowing I am not worthy of the gown
or the love within that I have found
In vision I see the man I love
and yet the book of truth unwrapped
though his fit is like a glove
I run as always I'm feeling strapped
within the dreams is cast our loves and fears
and the toil of thought we daily task
entombs the memories of our years
and the wine within it's earthly flask
Job 7:14 & 33:14-19 Ecc. 5:3 Daniel 2:19-23
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
Once you sailed upon the dawn
to grace the eaves of Pomona's verdant lawn,
but now in splendor you have drooped;
no longer shall you unleash torrents from your tongue.
Oh, white-hot zephyr of the morning,
How I wish your fall had come with warning!
Now your incandescent train is gloom;
no more will you water the thirsty orchards and summer-famished corn.
When you trawled the horizon with golden voice,
and with your sickle sliced the noise,
I never thought your time might be curtailed,
cut down by blade sharper than the one you hoisted.
Pluck Apollo's lyre: scatter drops of pearlescent dew,
Once your music winged over tangles of elm and yew,
yet never shall the harmonies of eternity be dampened:
or so I thought before the sapphire goblet was drained to the lees.
Words are immortal beings: spinning, flailing, sinning, wailing:
We cannot taste fluttering rose-buds but we can send language tailing,
to hoop, bedeck with gilt the firmament
and shoot rays of opalescent ecstasy to blind rogues into submission.
Yet far more and far higher is life than words can tell:
What more can be said? Strike the ages-worn bell.
Let it shoot its brawny waves over the seas,
and whip its well-worn message to the stars.
What kind of heaven do you shadow
there beyond your gathering cloud of mist and haze?
Just how do you define a paradise of yesterday
(and dare I toy with it and say)
when luxury begins to seem passê,
and just a bit too tired not to cloy a little?
Is all that mystery a barrier to a romance
that brought the ages to its knees; it seems
like only hours ago the trumpets sounded
for the conqueror, the pounding drums,
the royal colors flashing victory again.
Again! The victory is ours.
Never mind the cost.
Never mind the fading poor
who showed their wounds before the mist came in
most mercifully to hide them--
hide our memory of all the rags of poverty
with which they stubbornly adorn themselves.
What kind of heaven, indeed!
The evening with an unseen stealth
advances with a shadow of its own
let not the trumpets fade away.
let not the glory fall
Spill not the choicest wine of all!
Bedeck with finery, and adoration
our resplendent queen who rules us
though we do not understand quite how,
her powers altogether not assumed,
for we bestow them readily.
All hail, The Queen of Night...
What kind of heaven? Why, it is
the one that we have chosen,
and...it seems we have forgotten
if there was a reason why.
~
colour
attracts a
bee here and there-
but fragrance stops it in
its tracks
over
the stubble
carrion crows-
the game-keeper heads home
for tea
August
shaded gold
becomes monsoon-
berries rot beneath the
bramble.
a drop
of water
upon the ground-
forever lost,without
a sound
inspired by 2 sam 14:14
Kisses
and cuddles
with whispered sounds-
love reciprocates
our need.
sunlight
on the tiles
dusted with snow-
rivulets overflow
the butt
dank fog
envelops
a bonfire night-
the party becomes a
damp squib
a thick
mist blankets
the winter dawn-
necklaced jewels bedeck
the hedge
a blue
plume curls from
the damp ashes-
yesterday's visions still
haunt me
the first
heavy frost
whitens the lawn-
overnight fall becomes
winter
muffled
bells echo
across the square-
sepia memories
surface
humid
canopy
of sultry days-
torrid tempers simmer
inside
A cinqku is an 'English language 'version of a tanka with 17 syllables 2;3;4;6;2
no title and last two(or three) lines being a surprise/comment on the first three
lines ie as in he American Cinquain of Adelaide Crapsey.Cinqku was created by American poet Denis Garrison
When do you want to rebel?
At dawn when the thoughts are gathering
At broad daylight when the thoughts are hiding
At dusk when they are opening the buttons of their charade
Or at night when they have forgotten their purpose?
When do you want to rebel?
Lips bedeck in crimson, you wonder
Is it in search of blood or passion?
You wonder while they dance,
Allure you with smiles,
Lips, do you mean happiness?
Or have you slaved the smiles?
Oh you conniving puppetmaster!
When I rebel,
Will those strings be enough?
When do you want to rebel?
Hands touch you like you are satin
Wrapped around dirty, naked bodies
Without permission
When I strangle you
Will those hands be enough?
When do you rebel?
You love like a cloud in its deathbed
Caressing the wideness of an oblivious mountain
Soon vanquishing in his unyielding walls
When I turn into thunder and lightning,
Will that strength be enough?
Every breath is a chance to steer a storm
Every blink is a chance to create a memory
Rebellion is Agony's womb,
The place where
The sun and the moon,
Night and day,
You and I,
Our thoughts,
Were born.
Rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, gems of such great worth
Gems beyond price and beauty from the bowels of the earth
Sought for and dreamed of, fought over and even died for
When all said and done just pieces of mineral from mother earths core...
Placed in gold and platinum settings, price beyond compare
Stored in vaults to precious are some, but still bits of mineral to be fair
Reds and greens, blues for sure, these gems stone are beauteous things
Nothing says I love you more, than gemstones set in golden rings.
For me these beauteous bits of glass that bedeck the bodies of some
Bought for gifts and treasured always, these little baubles of fun…
The best gemstone of all is ‘adamas’ or unbreakable from the ancient Greek
But it’s the qualities of this superlative gem, that is what I seek...
Its superlative physical attributes mean, it’s hard beyond compare
Allotrope of carbon spewed by volcanoes, and it is still rather rare
This gemstone which is a diamond, and guys this is the best surprise
I don't want even the remnant of a diamond, just the glint like diamond of love in your eyes…
© ~GG~ 2/10/2012