Long Exhilarates Poems
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I awoke in a half dead state.
Senses crippled with no thoughts.
I lay alone, in an empty space.
The nothingness lasts until I peel open my eyes.
Without warning bursts of light pierce my soul as the colours in my world overflow.
That empty state was live and new, a brilliant sight that slowly grew.
I throw open my door, and my senses are assaulted with life.
A spectrum of sounds and a swirl of smells collide.
I can feel the world, as I stand in my doorway.
A bleak existence that now has meaning.
I can feel.
The warmth of the sun beats down.
The gentle touch of the wind exhilarates me.
I am lost in time, with no need to find my way.
I can see the leaves on the trees flitter.
The windows of the cars flicker with reflected light.
I dare myself, and close my eyes, leaving the beautiful sensations.
All I can do is breath, and now I feel alive.
I fall back, and land on the grass.
With eyes closed I feel the hundreds of blades, fresh, and new.
I can feel, and I am alive.
Alex Gladu
A Feeling of Hope
Sizeable Passion Grows, Unspoken Exhilarates Her Hunger
For His Undying Love To Her.
Two Heart's Collide Then Lightnin Struck
Only In Their Dream's Can She
Come To Him,
In Secrecy.
Wrapping So00 Ever Tightly,
Around The Clouds Sealing The Kiss
So00 Intimitly....Pressed!
He Gentley Lay's Her Down
On Silky Sheets Of Blue
Ribbon Caressing Her With Finesse
Oh So00 Ever Softly.
The Two Heart's Collide Creativitly
Speaking, Unlocking Lips:
Oh So00 Quietly.
When Two Heart's Collide,
Oh So00 Feircely, Knowing
They Can Only Be Together In Dream's
He Softly Kisses Her Goodnight,
With Deep Watered Passion In His Eye's
She Can Now Sleep
Restfully Against His,
Chest; Shortly
Awakened The Two Heart's
That Collided,
Forever
Dreamed....
Lord Vishnu once blasé of the same old scene,
Far too tame with His heavenly ease,
Felt for a change from ‘oh been there and seen’,
For one that exhilarates with fragrant breeze.
Arbudanchal My Lord, sage Narad said,
His constant devotee, seer versatile,
The hilly spot soothes any tired head,
And waiting ‘tis to welcome you with smile.
But how would I find this new paradise?
Look for a place bursting with spring flowers,
Naught whatso like it anywhere else lies,
Rich air wafts bliss from blossoming bowers.
No one can miss that golden yellow hue,
Aroma so rare on Earth’s floral world,
And a long spring’s about to be unfurled,
Once you reach there you'll need no other clue.
And ye can't miss those trees towering tall,
Glossy green leaves and ethereal fragrance,
Nor miss hills’ pyramid-like sloping wall,
Once there, enough is just one single glance.
…….
Yea, not long back it was, in fairer times
When earth nigh but rivalled the paradise,
Old Arbudanchal, what immortal climes!
Time when air was filled with life, man was wise.
Today the green is struggling to grow,
Hills bulldozed bare, brazen bald by progress,
Bare little’s left now old glory to show,
Save manicured greens garbed with tailored dress!
And still enough hints of the old glory,
Hope, it’d one day trace back times so hoary.
Alas, we’re left with only thinning hope,
How long would Nature give men longer rope?
______________________________________________________
Arbudanchal: The present day hill station called Mt. Abu in Rajasthan. I was there for ten days in late April to explore once gain its beauty after a long time of thirty years. The difference I found was stark. This piece narrates how this place had been the envy even of ones like abode of Vishnu.
Reminiscing | 04.06.2008 | narrative
Night is not like day,
when my body is groggy and I get tired,
but sleep doesn't come suddenly...
Even when the macabre darkness reigns,
I seek the hidden moon among the hickories,
to make me stray from loneliness...
And strolling with the pace of vagabonds,
I get to feel what they feel: when they are
ignored or forgotten by others...
Crickets seem out of tune,
while the watchful owls conjure;
and what attracts me: is mystery...
The bag-lady sleeps on the same bench,
and her softest pillow is a heap of leaves;
this morning she performed a superb dance...
The bright lam-posts begin to dim, to scare the fire-flies away;
and flickering they announce the new day,
when the strong aroma of the jasmines exhilarates me...
Night is not like day,
when the perfect peace is really felt inside;
even my gentle shadow turns into a silver light...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Trumpet
Melody notes
One fine evening
Bugle celebrates victory
Proclaiming amnesty into air
Trumpeter exhilarates
Lets out loose
Blows it harder
Trumpet
Written on 9/9/13 by
Dr. Upma Sharma
On visual #2
Every layman knows that since long ago,
painting, sketching and sculpting
by those possessing valid talent
has produced art that exhilarates hearts
and/or thoughts as artistry caught.
Not all know that our modern times
paired fine arts’ aesthetics chime
with craft’s utilitarian cadence
under Visual Art's mega umbrella.
Many wish riddance to this ambivalence.
To me, the grabbing-high from creativity
comes when it moves me perceptively.
I’m not much for art particulars,
its critics, popular trends or scholars.
I have my own criteria for art to
be brought home and share my hearth;
it must spark my imagination’s girth
with a delight that bubbles forth.
Flower I hold in hand, delicate as your sweet charm
Reaffirms my love, and feelings of amorous warmth
Idyllic like your serene beauty, petals are made of glee
Surrounded by ardent leaves of treasured memories
Color is your favorite pink, but the aroma is my wish
Searching nectar like a honeybee, adorning my plea
Never could I say enough, without help of eternal
Delivering blissful message, from my heart to yours
Yes, I wrote the verses but the words are not mine
They were custom-made to worship in your shrine
When you hear my inner voice urging for your reply
A gentle tug of heart exhilarates fervid eyes to smile
Scripting affectionate cherish of happy-valentine song
For love has always known, to each other we belong
February 13, 2018
Placed first in contest # 545 by Brian Strand