Long Beholden Poems
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I riff flecked about thee august
Autumn Equinox 2018,
this polymath learned why,
September Equinox
will be at 9:54 PM,
which spoiler alert thy
learned (courtesy Google),
when Or Sun Wells
crosses celestial equator
i.e. (imaginary line in sky
above Earth's Equator
from north to south), a quiet rye
hit moment occurs
Saturday September 22nd, 2018
(at 9:54 PM Eastern
Time) marks onset
of apple cider
and pumpkin pie
a distinct golden jacketed
matted palette well nigh
paints arboreal swath, sans
quiet riot of brilliant
color, that doth belie
rampant terrestrial, unreal,
and venal degradation aye
temporarily turning a (third)
blind eye apathetically, blithely,
and conveniently shunting aside
eyesore fissured gash - wide
cleft wound, where hide
ding away from
global abuse decried
as feeble effort
ignoring doth decide
fate i.e. as does wrecking,
where precious resources espied
snubbing, and thumbing nose
(figuratively) asper dead
serious portentous desperate
(falling on deaf ears) plea chide
dismissively mocking (bird
den some) prophesying,
whence creator cried
alarming, blaring, and clanging
sounding Doomsday Clock,
where ambivalence unheeded
scathing tragic miss guide
did exploitative testament,
where survival of fittest tried
to the max, viz (courtesy
of *****sapiens)
as Mother Nature dost allied
flora and fauna espied
comprising vibrant biosphere
each betrothed nsync, and guide
ding generic hominids shrugging
(Atlas sized fountain head)
off beholden hide
bound wedded bliss
to the other,
this observer awestruck,
sans whirled, wide webbed biota
adorns terra firmae analogous,
qua expectant wedded bride
named Gaia – resplendent
raiment adorned playfully chide,
when (dark and Stormy Dan
yells) Armageddon
legatee - time ran
out for *****sapiens meaning...
salvation to late for human
knit tee, cuz field day, sans
grim reaper will
glory in field day
whar cross bones
numb skull pay fealty.
I PRAISE HIM IN MY FLESH AND SPIRIT
Ahh!!! new that I have arrived in Him
My soul is freed fom sin
When I was physical I repented
Was birth again
I lay awaiting God's promises
To walk the streets of gold beholden
I praised Him in my flesh
Now I'm a witness
I praised Him in my spirit
Now the ones left behind only see my harden body
Eyes are closed-open
No breath-now I breathe
Encased in coffin No! No! I'm walking
With my Jesus walking
With my jesus God and angels
Where we'll be forever praising
My spirit left my body
Was birth again
I lay awaiting God's promises
To walk the streets of gold beholden
I bow down on my knees alive
I bow down on my knees in death
I bow down on my knees in heaven
I confess with my tongue I witness
I confess while I yet still have breath
Lord God you are, you are my savior
And in you I'll never waver
Ahh!!! new that I have arrived in Him
My soul is freed fom sin
When I was physical I repented
Was birth again
I lay awaiting God's promises
To walk the streets of gold beholden
I praised Him in my flesh
Now I'm a witness
I praised Him in my spirit
once you take that first step down the path
the decision has been set upon and you cannot go back
now it is up to trust, that invisible demon or angel in waiting
right or wrong the pendulum will swing in either direction
time a curse or a blessing guided by a compass
beholden to no one it has its own destiny
for love once betrayed is a vengeful enemy
setting off a cornucopia of storms of anger
unleashing the torments only goddesses can bestow
their ire thrust forth like a thunderous lighting strike
wishing to smite those that have broken her heart
there is no hiding from the maelstrom your betrayal has unleashed
bringing embarrassment to those that inhabit castles
a dire misjudgment in a moment of voluptuous temptation
is there now regret to having succumbed to human wontedness
it would appear so, hands now tied striding towards the inevitable
step by step moving closer to the sentence handed down
the walled fortress now a corral with no escape
and then I am there, she and a legion of men in waiting
a gilded sword sharp as any in the kingdom prepared
her golden hair blowing in the wind, delicate features revealed
utter beauty astonishing in the backdrop of a scorching sun
how could I have traded this for a night of passion with another
now I am pushed down to kneel before her my heart racing wildly
she is judge and jury and as she draws back the sword
I wonder if there is one morsel of sympathy in her repertoire
so I close my eyes and ponder why has my lust brought me here
all the whilst listening for the whoosh that will end my days or not
Andreas Simic©
I lost my ability to think for myself
As I sat atop the Church of Santa Maria de Idris
Carved into the cliffside while I sat sewn into its ridges
I had spent the former sun’s passage wandering the City of Stones
The hours loosened themselves as I passed beneath canopies of trailing vines
Draped over blanched bricks steeped
In shades of beige-and-brown-and-orange-and-grey
Vestiges of the past worn
Down each wall, each path
Woodwinds whistle and beckon me from the distance
But my anticipation allows no acquittance
I remain doggedly beholden to
The eventual night that promised to keep me alone
I lie in the sky yet remain fastened to the earth
My back chiseled by the jagged rock I chose as my resting place
My head suspended beyond its edge
So that the stars sleep beneath me and the city
Yellowed by the languor of its dim-lit paths
Hangs in the balance of our sweet nothingness
Zig-zagging-every-which-way
Like an I Spy book brought suddenly to life
Can you spot the soul in a world you know possesses none?
I speak of this not with any great anguish
But with a peculiar sense of contentment
One that has itself become the source of my gravest grief
For its mere existence renders mine worthless
I strain to reach into the dimness of memory
I blacken my mind to conjure my darkest fears
I even invite you into my mind
Dressed in every shade of my maladjustment
But none can hold a candle to the sight that lies before me
Along with the sharp ache impressed on my back
For the first time, physicality exceeds my once-thought-bottomless-imagination
And my mind affords me no liberation
Though I have always sought after some chimerical escape
Only here do I realize that such elusion is but another passage through delusion
And not the good kind
The kind that leaves me feeling childish and naive
As though in leaving I had mistaken distance for transcendence
Believing myself to be rising above it all
When all along I had been looking at the whole world upside down
Enticing sweet dreams you tiptoe
Charming passions memories spun
From days of our youth long ago
When quest of love had just begun
When in your heart I'm all alone
Enticing sweet dreams you tiptoe
Blazing desires we've felt and known
Kindled embers of romance glow
Musings endearing you well know
When our engaging souls impart
Enticing sweet dreams you tiptoe
Holding me captive of your heart
Oh! how our indulgent hearts woo
Flame of ardent past still aglow
Courting love beholden and true
Enticing sweet dreams you tiptoe
November 1, 2021
Quatern (eight syllables per line)
Placed 3rd: “S” Contest, New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Sweet
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
I am flowered in the shade of bird wings
neath patch of deep sadness absent of clouds
beholden to loosen memories mist filtered
cell charged energies their liberal release
bars that separate the spirited guardians
of fortitude held till dawn gilded rays shone
on the levy's shoreline thrashing waves
tethering the oceanic breezes crowning the
curling tops of surf swirling foams that
champion a sandy blackened shorelines
surging and receding in merciful coiling
of rejuvenating wetness where beached
life shoots to recapture folds of a fragile
domain as the briny seawater air loops
loosely stretch o'er the isles beckoning
the suds of waves and coconut thuds fall.
For long my darling dear one;
Energies falling from the sky;
Fairest one I be one, beholden;
I am such as I;
~
I am delighted in so you;
Subside the given light;
Radiantly fond to you ado;
Ever drawn a too your light;
~
I am draw sent to be still;
Quietly right earnestly wield(will);
I desire
Blessed desires to Co-
... take care of you, Beloved Daughter of the Most High God
Brush your hair, just be here;
Forever there;
In your presence;
In your praise;
~
When your sleeping;
When your here;
In the calming quiet story;
I want to be present share our Father's Glory;
~
I want to co care for you;
Be praying for you;
Do the things you want and need;
Just be ever co- present feed;
~
Be ever co- present;
For as long as God keeps me on this earth;
Just be ever co- present;
Be ever co- present ;
~
I want to clean for you
To cook for you
Be in Covenant with you co cover you
I love you
~
Soar, so I do high embossed by you
With the fruit of the spirit on so at peace with patience and kindness goodness of God faithfulness to you gentleness with self control I and in love with love you
Hither all her desires, thither my fires,
Balancing both, burden became my life.
In hope of love I walked with wilderness,
Breathe in, breathe out, mundane became my life.
For an excuse to smile, I just shed tears,
Crematorium’s cauldron became my life.
You came to my world, to a wrong address,
To blessings beholden became my life.
Flowers vie with thorns in this dual world,
What a prickly garden became my life!
To a tinderbox of bamboo forest
You came and golden fire became my life.
As time passed more embolden you became,
You a warden, pardon became my life.
______________________________
Ghazal |16.03.2025 | life, love, desire, expectations
Note: Most people are stuck with two types of life: one that is lived, and the other he wishes to live. This Ghazal depicts this dilemma that often persists till the grave. In a way it says without saying so. The opening line in the couplet (matlaa) is without kafia and radeef. Inspired by a Gujarati poem by Venibhai Purohit, but no translation.
Turn to me, ohh ! Little ONE
Turn to me,
If loving you is a crime
So let US be the murderS that killed time In just a matter of seconds.
you whom i would behold till the dawn of time!
Allow me to languish in your beauty unseen,
let me alone bath in your impurities,
and be filled by your glorious scent,
Feed me with all that there is,
the forbidden fruit of passion,
the mixture of bitter, sour and sweet,
The deity that you are! from whence love floweth,
a wonder to be beholden, a prophecy to be foretold and a danger to be warned of!
How can man survive your absence?and what more of your presence!
Night long, daylong, you are thought of,
seconds are but a day's journey in my thoughts,
@H2O