Long Irresistible force Poems
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HORSE GALLOPING
A lone horse galloping vibrant on open wide meadow
striking wild thorny bushes, feral grasses
with hard tilted hooves.
It is a saddle horse without any rider.
Glossy skin was shining under dazzling Sun in sizzling noon.
Silky curly brownish mane dancing in hot breeze.
Has it abandoned its rider or in search of its owner?
Driven by irresistible force of inner inertia.
Scorching blazing Sun is ahead, not a pleasant venture.
Bathed in tremendous heat
Yet not losing its proud arrogant posture.
Why is the aristocrat dynamic runner so restless careless?
Yet may not be aimless.
Some ethereal dream mesmerizing the noble animal
to reach Paradise, its goal.
03/31/20
Fourth Place
'Some Paradise Where Horses Go' Contest by Michelle Faulkner
Mind and soul of heartfelt joy disperses into words
Healing longtime wounds of old, releasing them like birds!
Every word I absorb from verses are seen throughout the skies
They flutter across the sunlit haze and caress my moistened eyes
I feel you soaring in utter bliss beyond all wildest dreams
Stirring up the poetry soup—brewing and cooking all sorts of things!
For all the wounds and burns are but tales of ancient times
Painful drawings carved on walls adorned with dismal rhymes
Many look upon our shameful thoughts like dark, menacing towers
But never again must we try to forget what is imminently ours
So cherish every word and phrase that barrels out of whim
Each irresistible force of grandeur pulling you to her and him
No matter the age, no matter the time, no matter the silly thought
Everything mattering, everything scattering and surely never forgot
A scrupulous scatter indeed we are forevermore to gird
In truth we are but birds of words and nothing less absurd
A powerful, menacing force of pain strengthens our souls to earth
And happiness distributes more to gain as we wallow in the mirth
Gushing out our streams of souls they lighten the vagaries
They spew out bright and succulent source, like fresh-born seraph berries
No matter the soul and color we will always be a mass
And for all the shades I fathom, they shall plummet very fast
Into a world of my devotion and a world of great emotion!
It was never mine to meddle, this iridescent, magnificent potion
Brewed by the miraculous splendor of verses oh so tender
Cooking forever in soups so luscious, no mind can help to render
Oh joy and heartfelt glory, you are never truly mine!
For every other bird out there is but a flying swine!
Provided not by anything, sheer luck has come to release
An everything, a purest matter...an art, a masterpiece
Your mind is enough for my Soul,
and your breasts freed to sway.
What is will/be is enough and
I keep my severe dreaming away!
I saw your golden cord climbing
above your nest that rises out
of the mouth to heaven.
And all illusions as a drying
painting of enormous proportions
that cupped flowers and abstained
from all human thinking --
the immovable body against the
irresistible force -- THUNDER
like eternity in flight like
a wave.
The greatest smallest creatures!
The smallest biggest lies!
The irrefutable truths against
the deepest paradoxes know!
If you are sad -- a lonely voyage!
Like the clouds engulfed in storms
I have spoken through pines and
cold soil -- through fire and
full blown masts across the seas!
You are the vintage nature of all;
a people with high raised hills of
strength and nostalgic voices.
I awake each morning before the
sun to watch the birds flee --
back into the nest of your love!
:: 12-31-2017 ::
born under the sea, an irresistible force
two bodies reluctantly embrace, shunting, shifting, tectonic drifting
alongside the southern Iapetus Ocean
equatorial deep-time child of Laurentia and Avalonia
journey northward, surfacing, submerging
surfing the waves again, a colder Hibernian dalliance
precariously perched on Eurasian plate
old bedrock confused, youthful erosion above the ancient order
darkness entombed around channelled winter light
early New Grange civilisation, the Boyne valley before the blood
river mouth vikings, raiding, assimilating
birth of the coming capital, eastern stronghold, Baile Atha Cliath
chain-mail Norman conquerors castle-building
appointing pious supplicants with sword, cloth, crook and cross
wholly unholy alliances unravel
rival hierarchies sharing ill-gotten earthly reward from overseas
saintliness, brutality, men and women
expanding Christendom, pagan kingdoms adjusting to defeat
Patrick, Brigid, Columba, Columbanus
Irish civilising roman catholic conduits, Dalriata to Lindisfarne
outreaching, a strand of Irish character
yet to encounter future revisionary metaphysical thought
protestant rebellion, mainland overspill
praying elites competing, preying on the island's god-fearing people
avian watchers on Skellig pinnacles
warm ocean currents well-up, catching the southwestern gale
enduring the ill-will of nature and man
supplanting, subjugating, saving souls, the power of might and fear
treachery within or well beyond the pale
fair and dark hair, ginger genetics existing on the edge of life
tossed thin people hanging on, many leaving
scraping blighted ground, returning to the sea, promise of the unknown
In sepia shadows where my soul drowns,
In the depths of misery, where silence reigns,
Yet, there blooms a serenity, a pure harmony found,
A whispered symphony, where silent dreams are bound.
In the poorest cottages, amidst dirt and decay,
My eyes see paintings hidden in despair,
Colors dance in veiled corners of the day,
My soul, with an irresistible pull, cannot stray.
The world, a canvas in the somber weave of gray,
Yet, in the faintest light, I perceive a brighter day,
A gallery of dreams in the chaos they convey,
In every shadowed niche, the secret of light lay.
The depths of misery, though vast and deep,
Hold secret gardens where resilient flowers leap,
A landscape of sadness, where beauty finds its keep,
In the embrace of despair, whispers of hope creep.
Through tears, visions gently play their part,
Silent melodies trace the contours of the heart,
Paintings in hovels, sketches in the dark,
My spirit rises, drawn to an artistic spark.
Within me, the music of the heart remains,
A harmony that pain's touch contains,
In the dirtiest corners, my dreams sustain,
An irresistible force, the chain of destiny strains.
In the threads of sorrow, joy weaves its line,
Amidst life's debris, beauty's charm is fine,
Guiding my spirit with a divine shine,
An irresistible pull through the sands of time.
Thus, even in suffering, I find a view,
Where art and music blend in a gentle light,
Pain transforms into a serene flight,
In the realm of dreams, everything becomes delight.
What is society? Dictionary.com doesn't say so, but it is, some say, an irresistible force that causes insensitivity, greed, or downright oblivion.
Sir, why did you ignore the starving man in front of your house this morning?
I was in a hurry to get to work. Society frowns on those who shirk.
Ma’am, why did you tell lies and sabotage your co-worker, who needed—and deserved—that promotion more than you did?
It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. I guess I’m just a product of my society!
Hon, would you put away your earphones and ipod and talk to Granny?
No response—She doesn’t know you’re there! Society keeps throwing all these gadgets at us!
September 26, 2016
I
Incorruptible truths endure
when the beginning of the end has begun -
blessed is he who rejoices in his fate
and damned is the fool by his own will undone.
But do not despair my life revoked,
free is the soul whose shackles are broke.
II
I feared life more than dying,
more than God and more than mortal sin.
Alas now I wait for the bell to sound
and hearken a lone piper’s pibroch in the wind.
For one last defiant gesture I crave
before I am dressed a corpse in my grave.
III
Remember me a simple man
whose life and fate was long ago sealed -
freed from the howls and the battle
like some fallen soldier on some forgotten field.
But that long road to my death knell
leads to heaven through the gates of hell.
IV
Now the quietus I welcome
for I cannot lose that which I never found,
and as I in my pit unhonoured lay
all ego and puffery does perish underground.
Death is a dark and irresistible force
and I no immovable object on its course.
V
Will Christ be my redeemer
when all that survives is animus and fear?
In final revelation and affirmation
might the Kingdom of Heaven be waiting there?
Or will old incarnation flesh and bone
forever die a lost soul ‘neath a headstone?
VI
So drink! Drink and be merry
O’ friend and brother and sister when I pass,
but in my grave bury me face down
and cheeks up and let this world kiss my ar-se!
This I do with a contemptuous scoff -
now bend over…pucker up…and kiss off!
Written: October 1992
“We live, we die, and the wheels
on the bus go round and round”
The irresistible force removed the object
the unmovable slave trade always a profit
always forever a normalised project
so why would Britannia be willing to stop it
why would you pay just to give them away
purchase the product to cease without pay
for the sake of a debt that centuries stay
for no return no gain but to change the day
freedom is freedom through miracle alone
it came from nowhere and was the unknown
take it for granted and still those would own
how unlikely the ending that we have all known
One power, would be, one historically,
if not for Britain ruling the sea,
the way of the human, still slavery,
no other power ever set us free!
Around the corner and half a block away, the flavor would grab me, tie me up to some irresistible force, then drag my nose to the source of its home. The aroma that wafted in the air and up my whiffer was sweet and warm - rich with orchards of deliciousness and cascading with the buttery peachy-ness of what was to come. It knocked all other thoughts out of my realm and led me down a path of complete submission - surrendering like the energy of cold water on a hot skillet. With each step bringing me closer, my musing would swirl with the anticipation of that first ultra-luscious, gratifying juicy bite - the one that ever so longingly and lovingly would delightfully roll around on every palate of my watering mouth and lingering tongue only to succumb to gulping down the first chunk.
From the flour and water and salt
Her timeworn hands kneaded magic
A mystical mixture of love and fruit to concoct-
A pinch of this and that, nothing formally systematic.
This masterpiece was an untold legend that "rocked"
The socks off anyone and even rival the "Titanic"!
Her ritual was simple and deep rooted
As uncomplicated as a baby's grin.
"Easy as Pie" she mooted
And laughed while she hummed all the while.
Layering the rich sheets of goodness in a pan
From pie dough to peaches to butter and sugar
There was nothing in this world so simple or better than
My Aunt Grace's Peach Cobbler!