Long Diffusion Poems
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It wasn't but a perfect illusion.
Though, if she is asked how it was to love;
She wouldn't mind to say it's diffusion.
She's fine, but never said it didn't shove.
That's why every lesson comes with a pain,
But she don't know if what she feels is right
Or wrong-- to love not only for the gain,
I love you should means I will love your plight.
And stand by you bold through the worst of times.
But when you focus on wanting s*x stir;
You make love born out sensational crimes,
You thrust me as I subsequently birr...
The aftermath is teasing to let stand,
Abortion; they say luck only withstand.
© 2020
® Olábòsóyè Wèmímó Oláolúwá
TO BEING IN LOVE’S LOVE
Being in love is an episodic emotion
Ballooned in exotic expectation
Tested by inflated orgasmic delirium
Often fizzing in diabolical diffusion:-
On the other hand,
Loving and being loved,
Is an eternal comic reality
That God spiritually bonds
To be eternal throughout life:-
How beautiful and exciting it is
To love spiritually, and eternally;
Being in the cosmic reality of
Blessed God sent true love
Ballooning beyond all
Limits and expectations:-
Being forever in love with you
Remains exciting and loving
And being loved by you is limitless,
And beyond all expectations: Praise God!
Each day I give Him thanks for the gift of you:-
Music of My Soul
The earth ever composes mystical arias for me
That taste the splendor in thunder’s profusion,
Then touch the silent metronomes of lyric waves free
To hypnotize my pulse in movements of fusion.
The sounds of earth…
Earth music arranges magic stanzas in perfusion
Lively scherzos in the keys of mysteries
Then reverberates in paschal hues of dawn to dusk ablution.
To scent the shades of pastel pitch silvery
The music of my soul
Revolving earth resolves discordant tones of atonality
To ever sing new scores out of seclusion
Paeans, chants, in deep river waterfalls drumming reality
In rumbling fault zones that move to nascent conclusion
The sounds of earth….
Earth music hums in timorous rotation diffusion
To resound in the harmony of celestial jubilees
Tuned, tuned into, tremulous tones in suffusion
Like a tuning fork of vibrating seasons energy.
The music of my soul
The earth ever writes solos of meadows carefree
Sunlight’s bright vibratos escape occlusion
In the fragrance of fragrant harp strings harmony
Plucked like wildflowers of whispering flutes inclusion
The sounds of earth…
Earth music performs the music of my soul without delusion
Grace notes, once in the grip of apathy,
Voice the sweetness of cricket canticles without intrusion
In the symphony of my soul’s hymnary.
8-9-22 Form - Rondeau Redouble
Rhymes checked with www.rhymezone.com
Contest: Let Your Muse Be Inspired R Forms
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Theme Chosen #4 The Sounds of Earth Is the Music of my Soul
Unopposed Oxymoron
This poem is light as a heavy contradicting complement
and rhymes with no correspondence of sound sharp at
the cutting horizon’s edge of melting confusing fission
Serious like a foolish jester and in trivial necessity it wants
to be chimed in disagreement discordant harmony figure
of speech silent shapeless tallies and out into central periphery
Traditional post-modern as an anchor less mooring unbound
a planar linear Oxo cube for poetry soups soaps speechless
rhetoric it says nothing’s everything all for refutation and proof
Cut as a half witted razor blade dull as laser bred dull diamond
the oxymoron in proximal distance joins divisions idiotic
intelligence bland precision in amorphous diffused clarity
I am nothing but and everything as I know to know nothing
where healthy insanity and clear normal madness when
condensed reflection and prismatic diffusion meets parting
My initial final backfiring telos in idle lazy effort’s endeavour in
rhyme and in lightness dissonant un-melodic featherless burden
is that being at different places in different times in the same
space and same moment is not an oxymoron but debatable truth
Written on 27th August in Johannesburg dateless timeless
and nowhere with a blank mind and mindful disregard
Late one afternoon the sizzling sun became a descending illusion
when the diffusion of his fiery fingers were immersed in the sea
I pleaded with my wistful melancholy mood not to claim control
of my sullen soul at the hour of painted skies; birth of gloaming
But roaming went my somber soul in a most unpredictable place
It saw my face in a mirror, searching for pathos. I yearned to feel
something real but couldn't, until frosted veils fell from my eyes
and I realized with crystal clarity; I hadn't been listening to my heart
I needed to start being a person who would not live entangled in lies,
who cries in remorse for the wrongs I'd done when my eyes were blind
I had to be the kind of loyal friend who would never turn my back
on others, nor lack the courage to be valiant, and my faith restore
Forevermore, could I be forgiven for every sin I had ever committed?
When pitted against temptation, I vowed not to give in to the dark
A spark now glows in my heart. Is this the emotion called compassion?
If sympathy were a garment of fashion, I would wear it as my hallmark
Within the tight corsets
and high collars we remain faucets
that the portraits display
at the exhibition for today
though young men among us
cross home plate to the wild cheers and fuss
about their food between
sausage and in Louisiana cuisine
many folks are simply
not full partners in this industry
asking loose boundedness
before a genuine catcher audience
Among those who still read
who still cannot descend through one head
may not be slow to show
how newspaper reading has dropped low
beyond adroit and breast
beyond legal orders and the rest
as part ensuring art
I have disturbed that established heart
like nightclubs without beer
family without funeral or bier
but single band to grow
among different hues agreed with woe
In this developed place
reduced to a formula or face
the body of the pain
from the public to the private vain
I respond to my life
with ethos driving from kitchen knife
its two patterns are fussed
but each module is unfairly just
in the klein house I gwine
laid dry in salt rather than in brine klein
I overcome with grief
because going now I would as lief
Noah survived the flood with sons Japheth, Ham, and Shem.
Along with the animals of the earth, God spared them.
With floods, He vowed never again to do such a thing.
God made a covenant with Noah and his offspring:
“You and your sons shall populate the world as you go.
Look up into the clouds and you shall see My rainbow.
This is a sign the covenant is everlasting.
All creatures shall thrive, along with each human being.”
Noah’s grandson, firstborn of Ham, Canaan was his name.
He had to serve Shem and Japheth because he brought shame.
Ham also gave birth to Cush; who in turn brought Raamah.
Raamah extended the line with Dedan and Sheba.
Shem was fruitful producing many generations.
Arphaxad and Aram’s progeny would lead nations.
Among Japheth’s seven sons were Gomer and Javan
Their descendents also had produced many children.
Among Ham’s descendents was a king who defied God.
A mighty hunter and warrior, he was Nimrod.
His kingdom had contained land from Babylonia.
Moreover, it stretched as far south as Assyria.
His great cities included Calah and Nineveh.
They lived on land between the Euphrates and Tigris.
His people united and strong were making progress.
Nimrod proclaimed, “We have one language and great power.
Let us assemble and raise a very tall tower.
This ziggurat will provide a stairway to a star.
We are an ambitious people, and we can go far!”
A new great city appeared on the plain of Shinar.
With formidable walls constructed with bricks and tar.
God realized these persons were filling with contempt,
He wished to halt their foolhardy fallacious attempt.
Perplexing their language among them caused confusion.
They stopped construction and divided with diffusion.
God’s almighty power can never be defeated.
Therefore, the Tower Of Babel was not completed.
A ziggurat is a temple of Babylonian architecture resembling a pyramid. It begins
with either a square or a rectangular base. Additional stories with smaller floor
space create a terrace effect on each level.
Genesis Chapters 8-11
.
jewel of Jesus
oh my God what on earth has become of you
the cross you bore and those days in the cave
torment and anguish all up in the clouds
diffusion dilution of promise and hope
you were to be the miraculous jewel in the crown
devoid of thorns that pierce our conscience
they tore the brilliance and cast it in alchemy
to thunderous applause of greed and contempt
gold myrrh and frankincense gone up in smoke
while divinity kinship humanity now burn in hell
warfare and anger instead of glorious peace
avarice material idols and rapacious destruction
hand me a loincloth point me back to the basics
guide me towards love kindness compassion
relieve me from fear and show me your beauty
you are way more than a historical artefact
Our earthbound concepts stifle and betray.
By living in the now, our every move’s
testimony to desires wrought in tales.
Our actions marred by spectacular fail,
but many lessons learned are treasure troves,
still earthbound concepts stifle and betray.
From numerous relationships I’ve bailed;
the eager lovers passing by in droves,
testimony to desires wrought in tales.
Often condemned by society, Holy Grail
of idealism that rebounds, and strove
by earthbound concepts stifled and betrayed.
Some friable notions foisted upon hale
and hearty folk who similar’ behove
testimony to desires wrought in tales.
We cleave to original mistake,* nailed
by brazen sillage† of the sin of love
for earthbound concepts—stifled and betrayed.
Testimony to desires wrought in tales.
NOTES
*‘Technically, sin itself was a Christian invention, a mistranslation of the Hebrew word chait, meaning error, a mistake.’ From the novel The Secret Purposes, by David Baddiel.
†Sillage in perfume refers to the aura or trail created by a perfume when it is worn on the skin. It comes from the word in French for ‘wake’ and can best be described as how a fragrance diffuses around the wearer. Sillage or diffusion in fragrances can also be called the ‘projection’ of a fragrance.
My mom loved to mix her imagination with reality
which meant her stories had a few twists
I called her world Dreamality…making her a dreamalist.
I remember one night when I was young
We were sitting outside…just her…and me
“Close your eyes.” She said, “and when you open them
your star will be the first one that you see."
“That star was created when you were born…
when you became my son
It was placed up in the heavens to announce
a new life has begun.”
“See how it is beating…it matches the beating of your heart…
Those stars beating brightest are the new ones
while those whose beats are fading are preparing to depart.
“Your star remains aglow until the day you die.” She said.
“for our stars are nothing if not precise
at which point it will swoop down and carry your soul to paradise?”
I imagine Mom was wise enough to understand the science of light diffusion
how the brightness and the beating of the stars is just an optical illusion…
I imagine she understood how meteoroids
are just burning bits of dust and rock…quite small
And, scientifically speaking, are not shooting stars at all.
But that did not deter her from believing her story in totality
(now you begin to understand my mom’s world of Dreamality).
Mom’s star burned out years ago and, yes, I consider it quite nice
to think it swooped down from above and carried her soul to paradise.
Many nights I still greet my star…
it’s something I can’t resist.
I regard it as a gift...given to me long ago,
by my Mom, the dreamalist.