Long Inundate Poems
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The wheel of time carries me away
from the listless life rooted in the present
to the distant desolate wilderness,
where I was once, but left forever,
that’s the fading past receding fast,
yet to get abandoned and obliterated.
Lying in the shadow of the perennial future,
creating the convivial flood of copious love,
that time carries on its cascade to inundate
the lavish landscape of ornate life sculpted
in my sartorial mindscape,
I dwell in the desire domain of perpetuity,
the deathless dream…immortality.
I strive to perceive the pulsating memory undying,
subsist in the discarded recess of the past,
for the soaring bird of my love
flies in the sky of my sensual present,
spreading the wings of dream to embrace
the halcyon horizon of the future.
While I drift with the imperishable soul,
floating entranced in the sublime sea of eternity,
and with the congenial wind of love,
blowing on the sanguine sail,
I yearn to get from the stalled time's magnanimity,
the surreal gift…immortality.
_______________
December 20, 2021
The tides of time sweep my soul away
from the life anchored in the present
to the distant obscure shore left forever,
that’s the receding past yet to be obliterated,
but lying in the shadow of the perennial future,
and generating the convivial flood of copious love,
time carries to inundate the landscape of lives carved
in my mind where dwells the desire in perpetuity,
the deathless dream…immortality.
I like to see the entrancing memory un-annihilated
in the abandoned recess of the past,
for the birds of my love flies in the present,
spreading wings in the firmament of the future.
While I drift with the imperishable soul,
floating on the sublime sea of eternity,
and with the wind of love blowing on the sail,
I yearn to get from the stalled time's magnanimity
the surreal gift…immortality.
___________
July 26, 2021
Contest : Immortality Yes Or No
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
The whirlwind of time drifts my soul
from life rooted transient in the present
to the distant desolate nowhere
where I was once, but left forever.
That’s the fading past receding fast,
yet to be abandoned and obliterated.
Out of the shadow of perennial future,
creating the convivial flood of copious love,
time cascades to inundate
the lavish landscape of life sculpted
in my mind where dwells the desire of perpetuity,
the deathless dream, eternity.
The entrancing memory undying,
subsists in the restive recess of the past,
as my enticed bird soars
in the fleeting firmament of the present,
spreading the dreaming wings to embrace
the halcyon horizon of the future.
With the imperishable soul,
afloat in the sublime sea of timelessness,
wafted by the congenial longing wind,
I’m on the sanguine sail,
yearning to get from time's magnanimity,
the surreal gift, eternity.
The vision you see in my eyes
You are the name of my sorrow, my sadness !
The sadness you say you see in my eyes.
Sanity dictates “ where ? ”,
You “ are ” rays of light – brightens up my darkness ?,
the sun that radiates – lightens up my world, my skies.
You “ are ” the sustenance – nourishment that feeds my soul,
the spirit that lifts – my spirit wants to know.
You “ have been ”, from the beginning – “ are ” my obsession.
The truth of this, lies in the heart of my confession.
You “ are ” the reason – once again I was able to love,
the basis upon which to rise up – to reach out, to climb above.
You “ are” the sweet breath - a breath of fresh air,
the source, the reason – the impetus, for why I care.
You “ are” the soldiers – the essence of my immune system.
The warriors that stand guard – that fight for my life.
You “ are” the blood – the life’s force in my veins,
the thoughts that carry – that fill my brain.
You “ are” the clouds – the cause for all the rain,
the tear drops that inundate – they obfuscate my vision.
You “ are” the source – the verbiage of my derision,
the negative force – words looking to fight
You “ are” the bird – the wings, giving my love flight,
a reason to soar – to look for a brighter light.
You “ are” the light that carries – makes a man want to love,
never giving reason, cause, hope, yet he still wants to climb above
all that once was, bringing you along, on those journeys
that forget history and it’s failures – creating new memories.
Insanity prevails
And this man’s love – blind, frail– knows not how to fail !!!
Never giving up !!, only giving in ??, Princess !!, you win !!
B. J. “A” 2
November 10th 2008
When I was very young, I would inundate my mother with question after question about anything and everything. She tried very hard to answer them all. Of course, her kind and thoughtful answers would generate many more questions from her favorite (and only) son. What was she to do, especially since my sisters were inquisitive too?
One day, after a marathon series of questions and answers, my mother simply said, “Ahda Bahda.” “What’s that mean?” I asked. She kindly replied, “It means Ahda Bahda. Think about that for a while.” And then she gave a wink. “Ahda Bahda” was my mother’s playful way of ending a flood of questions without ending curiosity.
many questions raised
Mark’s first venture into art…
ahda bahda (wink)
Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
The night is full of stars. Which still exist?
Before time ends, perhaps one day we’ll know.
For now I hold your fingers to my lips
and feel their pulse: warm, palpable and slow;
once slow to match this reckless spark in me,
this moon in ceaseless orbit I became,
compelled by wilder gravity to flee
night’s universe of suns, for one pale flame;
for one pale flame that seemed to signify
the Zodiac of all, the meaning of
love’s wandering flight past Neptune. Now to lie
in dawning recognition is enough:
enough each night to bask in you, to know
the face of love: eyes closed, its afterglow.
All Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
Something remarkable, perhaps,
the color of her eyes, though I forget
the color of her eyes; perhaps her hair
the way it blew about? I do not know
just what it was about her that has kept
her thought lodged deep in mine; unmelted snow
that lasted till July would be less rare,
clasped in some frozen cavern where the wind
sculpts bright grotesqueries, ignoring springs’
and summers’ higher laws; there thawing slow
and strange by strange degrees, one tick beyond
the freezing point which keeps all things the same
till what remains is fragile and unlike
the world above, where melted snows and rains
form rivulets that, inundate with sun,
evaporate, and in life’s cyclic stream
remake the world again. I do not know
if we can be remade?all afterglow.
To the Post-Modern Muse, Floundering
by Michael R. Burch
The anachronism in your poetry
is that it lacks a future history.
The line that rings, the forward-sounding bell,
tolls death for you, for drowning victims tell
of insignificance, of eerie shoals,
of voices underwater. Lichen grows
to mute the lips of those men paid no heed,
and though you cling by fingertips, and bleed,
there is no lifeline now, for what has slipped
lies far beyond your grasp. Iron fittings, stripped,
have left the hull unsound, bright cargo lost.
The argosy of all your toil is rust.
The anchor that you flung did not take hold
in any harbor where repair is sold.
I see in your glaring eyes wide open,
you’ve an inferno of anger burning within.
The tongue splutters words of the vitriolic mind
like the acid rain showering spite.
Your sane senses scorched by the wild fire
turn into ember ashes of malice.
Even then I don’t abandon you
in the simmering cauldron of hatred,
nor do I try to blaze you in return
with the flame of vengeance,
for I know you can’t spew wrath in my soul,
and fire can’t douse another fire.
I inundate you instead in forgiveness,
flowing as the fountain of benevolence.
The spout of affable elements drenches you,
extinguish the fire of disdain.
As you rise from the ashes of composure,
I see you in the shadow of repentance.
I pray to God to give me the strength of mind
and the wisdom of compassionate senses,
to endure the deliberate wrong doing,
so, the spurt of divine forgiveness,
emanating from the fountain of my benign soul,
I can bestow to those pledging sincere penitence.
Dare Not Raise My Sight And Ask How And Why
It is my time one other lesson to learn
And see through pain truths that me burn
In life nothing for granted is to gain
To wage wars against kismet is vain
Or think to a life through me I could belong
And own the right to show right from wrong
One other lesson despite what I am of age
To reconsider what I feel and think is sage
So humble to God that I dare not lament and whine
I just have to bow and ask not to be a soul of no spine
Rather able to endure what makes a backbone bend
Not a human of fake strength trying to everything mend
A human.. a woman of super powers.. what a fallacy !
Am of flesh and soul.. how it could be ? Have a mercy !
As a restless river my emotions abruptly flow
When hampered, they inundate unable to slow
With my oversight I failed to God’s grace praise
Abundantly blessed I recall how I was in a daze
Overwhelmed and seized by a heavy heart and many a sigh
I moaned but dare not raise my sight and ask how and why
The reason of mind a language the heart would reprehend
In its pain or rhapsody so blurred to see and comprehend
I pray to God scorching drops of pain dry and wane
Like a land that has to drink and absorb a ravaging rain
May God forgive my frailty His celestial wisdom couldn’t see
And empty my soul from disquiet to find the path of serenity
Nothing is under my control despite what I do and desire
God’s goodness and grace if not perceived the soul is afire
In the tranquility of my poetry my soul I bare and translate
My wounds in words I breathe.. in me what is dark illuminate.
I chase the migrating mirage of endless desires
in the desolate desert of my weary existence,
I carry my languishing life listlessly across bleakness
on the pitiless pathway of disparaging delusion.
I wander worn down in the wasted landscape
with the deceptive awareness of bereft belonging
to the surreal ambiance of beguiling openness,
I’m caught in the whirlpool of mire of mortal being.
I strive strongly to be free from the worldly grip,
destiny designs, resulting in the loss of essence,
impelling me to break away and chart a new path,
with discernment of divine conscience guiding me.
I transcend the looming limits of space and time,
implore God to show me the way of inward journey,
for I devoutly yearn to be suffused serenely with
the patina of perpetual peace shining in the soul.
I perceive the shower of His graceful endowment,
flooding me with the aura of freedom and happiness.
I sense delighted the faithful flow of blissful divinity
inundate my inner sanctum as I open the floodgates.
_________________
April 28, 2022
Theme Chosen : Open The Floodgates
Contest : Pick-A-Title, Vol 30
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh
A fairytale, commercial.
Raining onto minds window sill
An unfathomable deep.
Abominable monster on Life's seven seas.
Dreams, the valuable current sea.
A two edged sword for those sailing on the razors edge.
Balancing on it's journey.
They can bring us under the spell
of the Sirens that lay naked, unfulfilled, singing of blatentcy lungs in swell.
Scooped magic from.
Well.
Baring grins and teeth that virus
reVamped pyres
of passions piracy.
Witches of our own conjuring.
Beckoning for your release.
Dreams.
Wholly,
Water on the brain, licking in serendipity.
As it pleased.
To fashion a firmament, a figurehead, pornographically toteming-
Abreast of it's tease.
Everlasting return, returning, reoccurring.
That of- the rock-altar we cling to.
That deserted forge calling us back
to esteem the tooling of it's use.
Of placebo form, ethereally born.
Chartering smoke signals- ritually
awakened in the atmosphere
that you draw from.
A desperate plea.
For counterparts to see.
As the waves inundate you
with the salt of it's mesmerizing sting.
Dreams are intangible tools-
for those who thirst at an oasis-
One that drools into the mouth of madness.
Cups of drinking.
Unquenchable thinking.
Wandering in wondering
Wondering if wandering will bring the wonders we wand them to be.
Dreams.
Mind Genie;
With hourglass smoking lamp;
A reality burn, fueled by illusion, fire staunching your brain with soulstamp.
Dreams,
where the Fool is King.
And a Super-tramp.
~Jude Fernando Herrick