Long Flounders Poems
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To soul art thou as sleep be to my strife,
My cheeks when look no more rosy, look dull,
Lips no more red and knees no more supple,
The flesh when falters, wrinkles raging rife,
In feeble frame when flounders fumbling mind,
Its will unable to stand firm behind,
Bite me then if ye may like harsh winter,
But come not O Death like a sleepless sleep.
Be thou golden yellow mellow summer
To a tired soul that lived full, well and deep,
To whom life was like a day's work well done,
Night's rest well-earned, to face afresh new dawn,
In glimmering sunset's withering glow,
Let my old age O death be nigh mellow.
_____________________________________
09.01.2020
Night brings a wondrous display
a mix and blended menagerie arrayed
with colors, melodies and creatures unmatched
by any hunter's imaginary superiority scratched.
In my wildest dreams at the midnight hour
comes the magical images of children's power,
a cartoon reality that finds life so interesting
with visions of all nature in peace co-mingling.
The majestic trees germinate flowers to grow then fall
where feathered birds and squirrels gather beneath its shawl
of catkin clutches formed to pollinate some distant tree of long ago
with love and purposeful blend hosted under the rainbow mistletoe.
Each dream images the strangest encounters
in melodic song for wallabies and flounders,
making sense of what was displayed in the vision quest
still lies a secret unrevealed to this nightly guest.
Navigating troubled waters,
love flounders on depression's shore.
And only time can heal your heart;
till it isn't hurting anymore.
Rescued by hope, dreams are salvaged,
cleansed of any feelings of shame.
And fantasies, fully restored,
reignite passion's dormant flame.
You wipe away yesterday's tears,
determined to find your soulmate.
For when you do, you will find love,
and you'll know it was worth the wait.
An indescribable feeling,
love enters your heart like a dream.
And by making you feel wanted,
your self-esteem rises like cream.
As a wave of joy surges forth,
euphoria engulfs your heart.
For when life is filled with magic,
lingering doubts quickly depart.
I don't need mawkish photographs to see
the drowning rowboat tethered to the dock,
a withered seahorse clinging to debris
as umber water seeps through feeble caulk.
The cord grass will have grown up through the planks
to marry splinters teeming on the pier,
putrescent pillars tilted by the banks;
a pallid corpse beside the marsh's bier.
Those summers when we sailed through brackish mist
have long since gone the way of floating sculls
that languish in the asters to be kissed
by empty oarlocks perched atop their hulls.
Your August ghost still flounders on the fen
then sinks beneath in nightmares now as then.
shifting into the void
yet in occupation of form
as identityless presence
we cognise that what is
what was and what will be
is aliveness as awareness
immediate and intimate
awareness self aware
eternal and unchanging
as the life essence of self
the self we allude to
is neither narrow identity
nor conditioned thought
rooted in habit patterns
relying upon blurred memory
based on foggy perception
orbiting ego borne craving
in the world of transience
where resident in feeble form
the entity flounders about
self as presence self existent
is as is complete and illumined
detached from this mind body
though in occupation of it
as a vehicle to navigate earth
via sheaths of consciousness
vitalising the material casing
by three pranic electricities
energised by spirit at the core
blissful in the cave of the heart
the three electricities alluded to
first being the very breath of God
enabling we as He be breathed
feeling through the senses five
having outer and inner polarities
with lower mind for discernment
higher connected to the universe
thus jiva & Atma & Paramatma
or we may say body & soul & spirit
as manifestations of the That one
the true purpose of life begins
when the three aspects of the one
come into alignment with love
being the only true God vibration
reflected within as our conscience
all else but ego thought constructs
thus upon the ego or mind body
aligning with soul or higher mind
merging by melting into spirit or love
then free of all bondage we awake
11-November-2020
When the starless nights are bleakly opaque,
and the sunless days desolately misty,
to steer the astray life across an ambiguity maze
within the miasma of misery is not easy.
As life searches for the escape route in earnestness,
the whisper of humor dispels ludicrous haze from gloomy recess.
Time flounders in the cauldron of harsh reality,
storm of strife surges with shredding force of discord,
blowing away the shards of the mangled mind.
The splinters fall morphing into drops of tear abhorred.
In those moments of slashing friction
a shared laughter is the lubricant that eases the abrasion.
In the quicksand of expectation hollow inside,
remorseless dangers of desolation lurk.
As the demolished desires subtly subside,
failure makes the life’s tortuous pathway dark.
A flash of humor lights up the gloom of loneliness arcane,
fosters the human spirit in life’s absurdity domain.
Life with tentative future in tormenting times,
writhes in the crushing clutch of stifling suffering.
The bearing of being breaks and bleeds in pining pain,
finds no solacing arms to dedicatedly grasp recovering.
Humor does not refute the pangs of pain sowed,
its relieving support reduces the emotional load.
Unfulfilled wishes damage the dormant essence,
futile promises smother the rays of fading hope.
Shrapnel of words lacerate the lattice of the mind,
actuality turns life into epitome of animosity to cope.
A good sense of humor blunts the sharp blades of reality.
It doesn’t just render life endurable, it makes it a beautiful entity.
When purity and love dance
peace and joy shine bright
empathizing with a glance
to heal the heart with insight
waves of desire wash across
a life filled with shadows of rudeness
thinking of the heavy loss
felt by one who flounders in lewdness
naked minds feel the grief
brought on by tainted fears
apathy felt without any relief
angst growing amongst bitter tears
we hope to discover the utopia
written across the heart’s face
within one who has lived in dystopia
finally recognizing God’s saving grace
where are we headed poetry contest
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April 1, 2021
Darkness peeks beneath the shadows
Melancholic doubt, dread
From silent sensation, built by depression
Falling down from up on high
Where there is grace, where there is chance
Darkness drives away the intense hope
Prepares dreams for loss
Erases the innocence from the smiles
Beneath layers of twilight
Where stars glimmer in the ebony night
Darkness imagines the faces of a moon
Echoing serenity, soothing
Forcing the mind to remember the truth
Hastening the kiss of gloom
So nothing else knows the neglect of suspect
Darkness embraces the ugliness of despair
Whispers obscurity into the dusk
Blends sadness and fear, lingers in the tears
Where anxiety flounders, fails
To take away the moments promised, courage
Darkness reduces the colors so vibrant
Clever hues in violet and sapphire
Moments stirred by scarlet and sweet amber
Thoughts perplexed by the grayness
The dirtiness of the foggy grim, so dull – so dim
Darkness urgently prepares the mind, the thoughts
For the moments of sorrow, the harm
That comes alive in the grief that knows no relief
The death that dismembers grace
Disguises the beauty and masks the praise
Darkness complicates the joy that inspires
Eclipses the compassion and laughter
Conceals every thought of encouragement
Cloaks the dream in ambivalence
Muddles the feelings that make a heart thrive
Yet, darkness – in all its black splendor
Cannot disconnect the soul
From the wonder, the hope – the knowing
That love is alive, abiding inside
The one who knows the One who is His light
The light frees the darkness from her muted breath
And leaves the soul comforted
By the miracle of a faith that survives the darkest night
I see myself in lines of poetry I've written
flying and crawling, laughing and bawling,
winning and losing, breathing and dying ~
as a river current meandering where I choose to go
moonlight on a cold dark night, casting a soft glow
a flower bud patiently waiting to rise above the snow
wind whispering the names of loved ones where I flow
I see myself in lines of poetry I've written ~
the pursed lips waiting to be kissed and to passion awoken
baleful eyes that cry when insensitive words are spoken
the fragile heart that is valued as more than just a token
a woman abused, but whose spirit has not been broken
I see myself in lines of poetry I've written ~
the rendered smile that radiantly appears, unrehearsed
a hand gently tending someone who needs to be nursed
a warm ray of sunlight beaming, after a sudden cloudburst
the words, "I love you," ardently said without being coerced
I see myself in lines of poetry I've written ~
the foot avoiding a delicate flower in the crack of a sidewalk
a silent prayer when my voice was not strong enough to talk
the desperate fish trying to escape from the talons of a hawk
a door waiting to open when opportunity comes to knock
I see myself in lines of poetry I've written ~
as hope that sometimes flounders about, but is never lost
with faith in God, stronger than the erudite, Goethe's Faust
in love that is freely given, no matter what price the cost
as memories time will never destroy in an attempt to accost
I see myself in lines of poetry I've written ~
blue skies turning gray when billowing storm clouds arrive
a sweet memory nearly forgotten as it's put in an archive
the last withered leaf clinging to its tree, struggling to survive
a deep breath taken, hoping it's not the last to keep me alive
Where a mountain meets the clouds,
a winsome smile and a whisper:
"Here am I, waiting."
Chubby faces pop out in the haze:
"We're at every step, helping."
While I gaze, goose bumps bristle
all over me; then a light shower,
the fog clears swiftly.
I see broad flight of stairs roll out,
racing up the steep mountain till
it punches through the clouds into...
At the smoking base a man grips
a shepherd's staff, eying the top.
Soon he jerks into firm brisk strides,
breezes up the rungs, face straight
as his figure fades into the glow.
Sweet ancient melody, sort of a ballad,
unbroken since the earth was green,
keeps streaming down—soft, soothing:
"Come up here, my beloved, come!"
I look up "Me?"
"Yes, get the focus right, the mind firm,
eyes on top the mount. Hold my grace,
ask for more; you sure will need.
"There's no mountain you can't scale,
nor are crags you can't heave over.
There's not a height beyond reach of grace,
though faith flounders under its shadow."
© 2017 Celestine S Ikwuamaesi