Long Golden thread Poems
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Cascade of golden thread,
inundating web of light
kindling fires of ecstasy,
as blossoms stretch to heights;
blushing shower of flowers
soon scent springtime’s spray.
Elysian babes in Gaia’s nursery
ringing silent laughter to the sun,
gifting hope despite the elements.
Sacred stories unsung to earth
glean sustenance from her womb;
a celebration of rebirth.
Rose of bleeding hearts desire,
you sweet perfumes are elation.
Garden caretakers work full-time
and hopeful dreams do not elude
the awakening spirit’s
sip of refreshing dew.
3-12-2020
Spring Showers or Spring Flowers Poetry Contest
Regina McIntosh
Under the gentle veil of dawn, where thoughts float like morning mist,
Style is the golden thread that weaves through existence,
A muse that softly whispers to the heart,
Transforming the ordinary dance of life into a lyrical path.
Style answers all with a subtle nod,
A fresh hue that colors the gray of daily deeds,
Turning the mundane into something luminous,
An act of creation from the touch of a visionary spirit.
To breathe life into the banal through style is to perform alchemy,
Infusing tired bones with the magic of intention,
Repeated rhythms become canvases of infinite wonder,
Each careful effort a testament to hidden brilliance.
But to face danger with style, ah, this is true art,
A symphony where courage and elegance intertwine,
Walking the tightrope with a heart ablaze,
Turning peril into poetry, with each deliberate step.
Style, the silent language of those who dare,
An invisible cloak around the soul,
Guiding hands to create masterpieces from moments,
Turning each act of life into a mural of lived art.
Through the ebb and flow of conscious whispers,
Where thoughts cascade like stars into a twilight river,
Style is the silent music that directs the soul,
Through mist and flame, towards shores of luminous dreams.
I watch the play of life on the stage of time, where shadows dance endlessly,
I see people without clothes and clothes without souls to wear them,
Some dance with joy, others with sorrow, their steps are echoes of the world,
Each moment brings laughter or tears, like a river flowing without end.
In love, we see infinite colors, a rainbow of emotions enveloping us,
But here, even color fades into nothingness, like a forgotten dream,
Time continues to flow, carrying us on its unseen wings,
I see strange scenes in my own story, each a chapter from an unwritten novel.
In poor homes, hunger cries out loud, a painful echo of need,
In wealthy mansions, empty rooms remain silent, an oppressive stillness,
Behind luxurious walls, hearts remain locked, like hidden safes,
Across the street, silent tears continue to fall, rain soaking the asphalt of indifference.
Dreams shine with hope, like stars at night, promising infinity,
Reality shatters them, like a wave crashing against the shore, leaving only foam,
Hatred burns intensely in some hearts, a flame consuming everything in its path,
Love lives in places where no one looks, like a wildflower.
Fate plays tricks on helpless souls, an unseen puppeteer of destinies,
Those who seek the truth get lost in the unknown, travelers on unexplored paths,
And yet, in this endless dance of life, we find a hidden meaning,
A golden thread that ties us to eternity, a song that carries us toward the light.
A hand of sand in spectrum of flow of time,
ministering thoughts by simple pantomime.
So many sand-curies it has been,
and dessert hills moved gently keen.
Caravans slow vicissitude by blow of wind,
seasick on a camel ride pinned.
Motion rise and sink in endless obscure,
sensuous dunes proportioned contour.
Wandering aimless not by imagination,
creating landscapes of ancient preparation.
Illumed wilderness same same horizon,
only more sand for pilgrimage compromising.
The oasis coming in confident of fate,
to resolute the heart before it is to late.
Have we passed that shimmering crystal tower?
coming closer to the counting passing hour.
Gazing up and escaping these narrow walls,
the shifting sand and its sustaining falls.
This little golden thread dilate into column plain,
pursuing my thoughts regardless the time in vain.
A world too small for times in loving ponder,
timeless appreciation and all its precious wonder.
My enchanted soul bows to your smile
And feels the power of your love to rise
This rising is such my heart you beguile
As I feel serenity in your eyes
To be loved like the dreamy light of dawn
That moves away darkness and leaves no trace
And gives a smile and a kiss to wish on
In love's timeless realm my dreams won't replace
Claim this world of joy, when our hearts are fed
When love is held in our palms, both can hold
To treasure our love's spool of golden thread
That weaves the days and nights as we grow old
How soft our years to make in memory
How sweet and gentle the love you give me
10/18/21
contest I Love You
sponsor Eve Roper
If your heart was a diamond, perfect and clear,
glittering gleaming like a broken heart's tear,
if lust was coal, dusty and black,
would it make you realize you want to come back?
If music was woven with golden thread
soft... like the locks lay upon your head
I would listen all day... and through the night
I would play it once more to make things right.
For if poems and words were always the truth
and were spun into realities as beautiful as you,
my creation would be worth the time that it takes
and the toll that it makes.
For days are like mountains and years are like hills
and the tears are the rivers that turn all the mills.
Though they bring sadness and though they bring pain,
Has one seen a rainbow without any rain?
Though things cannot last, still nothing can die.
It is a circle broken with only goodbyes.
An echo in silence... a wonder we forgot
the weeping of willow was all for not.
One less second is no concern of mine,
but one may wonder where goes that time...
You can think it like this, you can think it like that.
Will the thinking bring those moments back?
It has been so long, moments have been wasted!
Fruits of love I have never tasted
rot on the ground but will grow towards the sky!
It is the endless circle broken only with goodbye
Crumbling in my hands, the hopes of a past,
leaving, believing that all this could last.
The soil turns to sand and then sand into dust
and blows away in the wind... something bigger than us.
This greater purpose... this greater end
can be seen in every sunrise, every heart of a friend.
Coal into diamond and diamond to rust.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust!
So be it if words are spun into lies.
It is all just the circle broken with these goodbyes.
In the end... dreams will come and others will rust
it is ashes to ashes and dust to dust!
Weapons are worn..By street police passive-agressive placebo pieced.?
Planes are armed, expressly to kill
The messaging is, more overt cacophonic
Cause; outcomes ill.' Tanks have cannons
Rockets too, ships the same its (what they)
Do..Who might you ask are the they i note?
Well quite supercillious slanted people with pockets gilt.' Innocous looking they project
Serious
airs..Are benefactors of charities
(That proves they care) they do give some
Millions to the damaged souls caused by wars, that they demanded we hold.' They are also benificiarirs..After and before yet
( these ammounts are in billions ) that is quietly off-shored.' No pomp' no fanfare just those screams and shells, the distant
Soundtrack 'oh tony didn't you do well' you
Hold buisness seminars ( definatley not for free!) And after invading Iraq 'you invaded your own country' it
all seems of a theme? like.? A
Pattern of sorts.' With one golden thread; also you accumulate many naughts.' Oh yes.? There is a lot (spoken of zero!) So it
Seems all to gel..Into a theatre of death and payments, bout near as i can tell.? And
The plan-demic musn't forget..I'll bet you were fully on board.? Along with gates and
The Bushes schwab obama scoros.' And did the drainstream media applaud? Yet I
Stand as just one witness, among so many
More that detest the application ( of death as an industry ) upon which you all set such store..You never weild a weapon yet
There are razors in your words.'
To keep the privilege and funding.' They
are quite
Useful in skinning, and preparing
your verbal utterings; of turds.'
Love is the smile that will always answer,
And the waiting heart beating anxiously.
It is the eyes that will never wander.
As love is the soul's strings in harmony.
To be in love is a world apart, new.
Where the sky's horizon is velvet red.
As vibrant colors paint the silent view,
To weave each scene with a golden thread.
When love finds you without announced entrance,
And bows before the lonely heart of need.
It brings soft flowered petals of romance,
And open arms, allows you to be freed.
Love's cause is to merge two hearts yearning.
And soothe the soul that's silently burning,
Near midnight, when stars sing their loneliness, my mind boils,
In a sea of thoughts flowing ceaselessly, like a river of memories and unfulfilled dreams,
My soul struggles in the nets of its own reflections,
In an endless search for perfection, like a bird trapped in a cage,
I stay awake, delving into the abysses of my mind, spinning in circles of illusions.
The question haunts me, like an echo in an empty cave: Are overthinkers with restless minds bad?
I always believed so, but now, in a moment of clarity,
I understand that "bad" is not the right word, it's an unfair judgment,
For rarely do you find a soul that thinks too much without being capable of deep love.
The night witnesses my insomnia, when sleep flees from me like a fleeting shadow,
My mind races at a million kilometers per second, losing itself in the desert of thoughts,
Obsessed with every detail of the day, striving to savor life entirely,
But everything has a price, doesn't it?
My thoughts throb from lack of sleep, my eyes burn with tears shed for unfulfilled expectations,
Despite countless scenarios imagined for perfection, the result is exhaustion—tired bodies, aching heads.
You're exhausted, aren't you? And it's all because you love life and want to make sure you're truly living it,
Not just being in the crowd, watching your body live for you.
And in this, there is beauty, a beauty in you,
There is beauty in overthinking,
Like a night flower, opening in darkness, shining in a secret light,
A dance of shadows and lights, a melancholic spectacle of my soul.
In the depths of melancholy, I find a subtle magic,
A golden thread woven through the fabric of thoughts,
My soul soars, even in endless agony,
For in every struggle, in every tear, there is an immortal story,
A story of love, of life, of the beauty of being human.
And so, in the endless flow of consciousness, I lose and find myself,
In a world of dreams and reflections, where magic and melancholy intertwine,
A world where overthinking is not a curse, but a hidden blessing,
A gift of the soul, a quest for perfection, a love that knows no bounds,
And in this endless dance, I find the beauty of truly living.
A thundering heartbeat
echoes from the garage to
the stadium.
An subterranean rumble ignites
the quiet arena floor,
As radioactive currents course
through the waiting veins,
Unleashing a fierce,
tempestuous wave of
symphonic thunder.
They transform the mundane
into the fiercely monumental,
Weaving unyielding, anthemic
battle cries from raw
vulnerability.
The percussion strikes like a
sudden, electric lightning bolt,
While the vocals soar into the
stratosphere, cloud- split sky,
Challenging the internal,
shadowy demons that haunt the
mind.
Believers rise from ashes of
their broken, fractured paths,
Bound together by a
triumphant, golden thread of
sonic gold.
This is the majestic,
unstoppable roar of modern
giants,
Stamping their timeless,
permanent footprint into
musical history.