Long Enigma Poems
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A nomad wanders
in labyrinthine wasteland
of the denuded life,
desolate,
the sinuous dusty track
takes me nowhere
in the obscure bleak terrain
forlorn.
My soul’s lattice,
entranced,
migrates mystified,
entangled
in the encircling web
of enigmatic conundrum,
asks bemused:
shall I escape
from the debris of delirium,
or
shall I be the enigma,
embedded
in the extant riddle.
I couldn’t decide.
The ingrained imprint
of possessed passion,
indelible,
of the stubborn being
on the weaving wheel
of the demanding time,
winds on its own
out of the tormenting tangle
of the tortuous trail
of the pining past,
transfixed in the horizon
of receding menagerie
of memory,
metamorphosed.
Steered with the promise
of pervading pride,
my beleaguered mind
out of the maze,
shows me the pathway
to the fervent fountain
of euphoric future,
figurative.
With the beat of my heart
I break resolute
the invisible blatant barrier,
impervious,
you’ve built insolent
with the skeleton of seclusion
around the secret garden,
shrouded by the arctic mist
of mind’s winter feelings
frozen.
The baroque buds
supine on the supple saplings,
line your garden path,
wait for the spring.
I saunter there,
suffused sensually
with the seraphic shine
of the sunburst new dawn.
I wish,
before I walk the last mile,
our paths will cross
someday
in the valley of flowers,
entwine eternally
the bouquet of belonging,
epitomized.
I miss her, Mother Egypt
and those friends I left behind,
timeless history, marvels and mysteries
etched in stone by her own scribes.
Longing for the waters of the nourishing
River Nile and surrounding seas,
the laughter and smiles of everyone
who once loved and greeted me.
Near the shores of Alexandria,
Abu Qir and Fort Qaitbey,
Where Cleopatra's palace once stood
in somber ruins, she now lays.
Near Pompei's Pillar and Roman remains
of columns and fortress walls,
white marble statues and museums filled
with antiquities large and small.
The sights and sounds in every town
Of a marketplace lost in time,
Selling goods from almonds to wildwood
And candles to clocks that chime.
In the land of the Eye of Horus,
the son of Osiris the King,
and Isis, Queen Precursor
to Mary, Mother of God, Creator of everything.
Cradle of Christianity and home to
Pagan, Gnostic, Muslim, Jew, sanctuary
where the Holy Family fled from evil
to a warm and welcomed refuge.
Where the mighty Sphinx and Pyramids
stand silent, proud, and tall,
in the salutary sands of time
with eyes peering down upon us all.
Temples of Luxor, Abu Simbel
and Colossi of Memnon,
Valleys of the Kings, Queens and Hatshepsut
awakened, alive again each dawn.
Mummification, adulation
of life and death and stars,
Constellations, incantations
and the wonders of who we are.
Battle tested, rarely rested
waiting for the next invasion,
of Persians, Greeks, Romans and those who seek
your immeasurable treasures unabated.
The ebb and flow of come and go
throughout your long, hard years
of growing seasons, rhythms and reasons
to keep fighting back the tears.
Yet never waned while fighting flames
of one invasion to the next,
while still your people smile and sing
with a yoke upon their neck.
In a land that never loses the allure or
enigma of mankind's birth,
where magic and myth still hold their grip
on whatever we think life’s worth.
Mother Egypt, truth be told, I miss you more than all your gold
and antiquities that survive,
where I once sipped cappuccino
watching history passing by.
A jar full of oblique imagery
and jagged thorns.
A jar full of black ROOKS
fractured symmetry
torn pages from books.
A jar full of rusted nails
bleeding the secret blood
Sacred and profane,
souls haunting the halls of hell,
sliding down rusted hooks.
The coming of the primordial flood
the liquid of life
the washing of strife...
A jar full of black fluid...
A jar full of cracks intricate in pattern...
A web of jittery filigree.
A jar full of lies.
The dead fall freely
the Lord of flies
the seeker of all,
a jar full of dust.
The red, a raging rust...
of eons reading the
sacrificial lust in literature of One!
A jar full of stars;
infernal enigma of gods,
the effigy of forgotten wars,
the quest of imperial czars.
A jar full of nothing but sands of time,
from distant shores of eternal emerald seas.
A jar full of imagery symmetrical symmetry
full of furies divinity...
Bursting forth of will potential
When cauldron of love overflows
Makes kinetic bliss miracle
Joyous essence of presence glows
Space-time screen displays life contrast
Polarities orbit the heart
In hypnotic trance, die is cast
Delusion driving souls apart
Each entity as God-essence
Seeks to reclaim it’s past glory
Conscience as voice of innocence
Attempts to script, it’s love story
Mind-body has it’s agenda
Narrow views and self-centred stance
Thus life simple, now enigma
Looking at other forms askance
Joy transience versus permanence
Once cognised by discerning mind
Light no longer pays fear penance
Leaving fleeting desires behind
Soul enters void of cessation
The world external fades away
Each life breath, then celebration
As tranquil heart, ceases to sway
One that became two, one again
Head-heart aligned, does not resist
In-form consciousness, cleansed of stain
As ordained, becomes a bliss mist
23-November-2021
PRESERVED FOR POSTERITY
awesome sensations
compliant
rapid
prodigious
astonishing
a visceral
drifting into irrelevance
a cluster
of strange nostalgia
into memorys lane
a fragility
of existence
fusing emotion
a meditation
on mortal
summoning subtlety
with a distracting
aura
such allusions
of grandiosity
manipilated
recalled
by
experience
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Dear Curious Youth
And inquisitive Sleuth
I present to you a quandary
A baffling report
An enigma of sort
Whenever I do my laundry
It’s quite odd enough
That some certain stuff
Go missing before I’m through
Between warm, rinse and cold
Sort, hang and fold
I find one sock instead of two.
Despite diligent seeking
Specifically speaking
And searching high and low
And just to be clear
I have no idea
Where the missing sock might go
So I’m left empty handed
Or single-sock stranded
And am leaving you in charge
So you my dear friend
May soon apprehend
This sock-napping culprit at large
I must soon leave this place
And commence my next case
Please continue with my query
But before I go
You ought to know
I’ve formulated a theory
Just thinking this through
And an evidence review
Consider this please, I beg
It’s rough and brief
But the brazen thief
Might only have one leg!
Be smart and reflective
My washroom detective
It’s now entirely up to you
To determine the fate
Of this Laundry-gate
Your Good Friend,
Nancy Drew
the spectacle of beauty claims supremacy
inticing soceity in spells which last endlessly
portraying tendencies to embody our community
no defense of immunity- all fall victims to its feet
from the commons to the elite- its facits are discrete
its seeks its enemies by engulfing their thoughts
with no force, entering your conscious as a trojan horse
using your mind as the source to your emotions
evoking instant devotion through meager words spoken
submerged in an ocean of opposing brain waves
to enslave mortals in ways of an enigma maze
which you portray as being tangled in the web you wove
in which you seemingly chose to configure and rove
and with each embracement or concealing of lips
ascends you to a new level of bliss
and temporarily answers the question why you exist
its mere presence extracts your from dark depression
soft words of passion leave eternal impressions
and each session gone wrong acts as a lesson
there are societies that marvel at how my power mends man
and how stupid fools put bands upon somones hand
and expect that grants them an everlasting relation
but bonds are cracked by inticing looks of infatuation
acts of deviation onset to experience its partner sex's sensations
people have vowed and longed for it since the begining of time
even in divine, in passion god created mankind
and sent 2 beings perfectly crafted from above
whos emotions soared upon the cleratic wings of the dove
cause behind every action stands the face of love.............
Form:
Written: October 02, 2023 For Robert James Liguori Contest
_______________________________________
Fervent mishaps start life's biggest wins.
The first crocus shrieks and grins.
A bird's song caused snowflakes to bloom.
Pink, peach, and gold hues in the sky loom.
A fib said once might have afar-reaching effects.
Even as there's time for the truth to tie its elects,
I once took a pathless route to a sluggish win.
Suitable people can clash with the truth within.
Appearances may mislead, and secrets may hide.
A brave and savvy tale, hiding an enigma inside.
Cross rivers and lofty hilltops to find the truth.
Seeking truth amid a world of lies and sleuth
Aged tale as Eden Tree, vernal as a raw tooth
Men grasp lip-thatch form, art, and truth.
Erstwhile, tales, and fables tell.
Truth, rising from the depths of its well.
Authenticity faces life's storms defenseless.
Yet slyness stays sealed to strife senseless.
Justice and fairness ensure all are rated fairly.
Dark deceit and evil send spun wiles sparsely.
Be brave—the liar is a coward and a slave.
Sneaky, skilled at scams and lies, awful knave.
Being honest is punter than money and status.
Stick to the truth, relish light, do not tend to fuss.
Righteousness is power; truth must prevail.
True bravery for an hour typically will avail.
Under any disaster, selfish wails yield no gain.
Inspire with grit and firm will, not always pain.
When happiness settles in my chest like a gentle sunbeam,
I become a circle rolling lazily on the green field of grass,
I hit a tree standing in my way, then turn back from its shadow,
Seeking the light, rolling away from the shadow and leaves.
When sadness wraps my skin like a veil of cold, dense fog,
I transform into an ellipse, my thoughts stretching far from the center,
I struggle to return completely, to constrict myself into a circle again,
In perfect balance, where my desires meet once more.
Then self-doubt sets its throne in my soul like a heavy cloud,
And I become a triangle, a Bermuda Triangle,
Attracting every ship of optimism, lost in my mystery,
A tangled labyrinth of my worth, an endless and ancient enigma.
Then the greed for perfection unleashes from my depths,
Shaping me into a square, symmetrical, each corner carefully aligned,
I carry myself upright, at perfect angles, seeking that ideal form,
I am less a changing human and more pleasing shapes to the eye.
I am a story of lines and curves, a dance of shapes and shadows,
Always searching to find myself between eternal corners and rounds.
Little Bo-Peep adored playing hide and seek, hence the fond nickname;
Just as hued rainbow is named for its dazzle, so radiant over every lane!
Bo-Peep was eight, and lived on a farm. She had various loves and joys.
Her world was full of magic and make believe, and she had sparkly toys.
But Bo-Peep loved more than anything, tending peaceful, fleecy sheep,
A task she'd only recently started. She loved the gamboling and leaps!
Friends Frances and Faye flew kites with Bo-Peep, in berry colors, deep;
And loved folk dancing at sunset flame, under the fuchsia sky mystique.
Familiar February had fallen fast, and yielded to fresh, fragrant flowers,
In leap years of fevered, family visits, when green bared mystic powers.
Bo-Peep lived in the house of enigma, ever hailing moments unfamiliar,
When moon and sun played hide and seek, as time turnt gold and silver.
Red robins roamed rouge, dusk skies, near the royal, Ranunculus Road;
And buttercups really brightened the rosy route, where breezes blowed.
Nature knew nothing but budding, when neighbors visited the sunlit days,
In a nectarine season of noble lives, when they followed the golden rays.
Crimson bellied birds faced ruby sunset, raining its beams like cherries;
And 'lady of the night' orchids reveled in moonlight, observed by fairies!
Elegant orchids were dressed up and dancing, along hot streets of gold,
When 'blanket flowers' draped stuff with color, prettying the dull and old.
One day Bo-Peep got lost in a daydream, as the frisky lambs wandered.
She abruptly realized they'd all gone! Like seconds eternity squandered.
No bleating or baas could be heard, and there was no sound near or far;
For, not even pink robin was heard in that moment-in a stillness bizarre!
After searching the farm in vain, Bo-Peep confessed it all to her parents,
Who were calm, wise to ways of sheep; as diamonds ken facet moments.
'Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
And can't tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, And they'll come home,
Wagging their tails behind them.'
Everything was coming up roses by dawn, like burgundy sun and blooms;
And the lambs had all returned, like spring green, emerging from its tomb.