Long My musings Poems
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Their conceit gone high
Clouds try scale a lofty crest,
Break down, tears roll by—
Of fallen false pride in haste,
All Nature laughing in jest!
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Musings |08.06.2021|Tanka
Poet’s Note: What happened at Nilgiri hills long back came to my reminiscing mind. I had a vintage seat on a far off hillock. Sun was on its downward journey in the West behind me. In East hovering over me were a few tall crests. And I saw some greyish white clouds rushing towards them, trying to leap over, but failed and got broken to smithereens, their tears getting sprinkled all over me. It set me thinking, and this Tanka resulted from my musings.
My first recall, is your beautiful hair
walking, elegance in grace you exude,
breathing sexy words to you, none were crude
loving words, could not show depths of my care.
I remember your unsteady glance
as I peered through the edges
of my windswept bangs
your words whispered
softly through dusk's breath
...even the horizon blushed
My lips, painted
temporarily parting
in the trice of a gleam
hid my sadness
momentarily
as your smile
allured the depths
of my sorrowful heart
Your smile, did this eager soul truly bless
as soothing vibes, found sad heart to invade,
my thought was, may this feeling never fade
forever yours, pure truth I did confess.
Love, those words, born of romantic fever
are as blossoms falling in gentle wind,
within that sweet image, time has no end
at first sight, I became a believer.
I was but a wilted flower
in a field of many
struggling to stand
barely visible
yet you noticed
and nourished me
Your laugh at my words, being on a dare
friend said, such a beauty- you have no chance
king or prince, but not you, never romance
then our kiss, showed him, a loving pair.
I remember his scorn
like a thorn, it pierced
the edges of fate
yet unsure
you still gambled
your heart
at stake
beneath
a kiss
A collaboration with Robert Lindley
Thank you Robert for the invitation to weave my musings into your beautiful poem...it was a pleasure!
I write upon the nimble hands of fleeting time
careful not to leave my musings behind
Sometimes penning with haste and speed
trying not to forget
a relevant word or phrase seen in my mind's eye
that could be a crucial poetic thought
When tremulous mourning escapes my wistful heart
I am overcome with sorrow and cry
tears of desolation, and yet,
it is the balm I need.
Writing offers comfort, but never peace of mind
Love sonnets, I still write for him, in rhyme.
When the clock swings its pendulum and starts to chime
I become annoyed but always resigned
to accept that my heart will bleed.
Happiness owes a debt,
paid when loved ones are taken; a price much too high
as the clock mocks me, "Time cannot be bought."
January 31, 2021
My Invented Form - I Write Upon Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Syllable count verifed with HMS
While I gaze at nightfall through chilled droplets
my musings try to redesign past reveries:
oh those exotic, summer escapades now buried
in gravestones of ice- powdered vapor…
and now the blistering winds return
when a frigid son of Poseidon veils
eve's tableau with ghastly pines
like numb statues macabre and furrowed,
hiding the radiance of moonlight.
Looks drab, not interesting, yet come early morn,
the sprigs beckon a tune elegantly droning
on lucent flakes to nibble the skyline red…
a mirror of stars circling in a gentle, gentle prance,
this, only in the magic of a white winter spell.
9/24/2016
Interesting Contest for john lawless
Gate or Gates 7-1-25 Based on Rodin’s Gates of Hell. It struck me that Rodin’s gates are closed which made me think of a pastor who said he would want to set up a mission at the gates of hell, that maybe, there might be one last chance of forgiveness. Agree or disagree, theologically correct or not, this poem is just my musings based on this perception by Rodin – the acceptance or rejection of grace - forgiveness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gates of Hell
Mercy stands outside
The GHOSTLY gates of hell
Spreading amazing wings
Benevolence
In GOSSAMER compassion
GRIEF-STRICKEN
At the sight of unquenchable fires
For souls born from the pure fire of love
GROANING with tender clemency
Offering the finality of forgiveness,
Amnesty born from an empty GRAVE
In a garden,
An empty cross on a bloodstained hill,
Armors built in plates of arrogance
Scream,
Dissolve,
In the acid of this reality
Grace, never GODFORSAKEN,
Offers a chalice of ruth
For the ruthless,
A breath of pardon
At the execution of a soul –
Pilgrim thinker
Sits outside the gates of hell –
Building a mission on closed gates.
This magical fairy who paints my dreams
Has blushed my fantasy in subtle hints
That kissed dreamy night on the thrills of fall--
An amber delight on the hills hued brown
I have known her long since blossoms of spring
When grass was green in the lilting prairies
And scent of my garden perfumed soft winds
While butterflies roamed in search of honey
Upon summer's zeal she shimmied with breeze
And teased my musings in rustles of trees
As echoes of love waltzed on humid air
And sailed with me on tides of blue ocean
I see her charm now as leaves turn crimson
When desires of passions our moods invoke
And moon’s shadows on rushing water float
In waves of romance where blue river flows
She waits for me beneath twinkles of stars
Where scarlet vistas blaze autumn’s canvas
And holds me closely in rhythms of her heart
As pulses soon dance to nightingale’s song
But, just when it's time to satiate dreams
Alas! she leaves spanning mystical wings
Though this quest chased passions illusory
Cherish I'll, always, daydreams she lent me
April 8, 2021
Ten syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com)
Placed 1st: This or that, vol. 1 poetry contest
Title chosen: Chimera
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
it’s just another day
yet the air scents different today.
am not hurt
yet i feel my moist eye lashes.
is it your absence?
or the truth i know?
the truth that things are falling apart
the truth that you can’t understand me
the truth that there is no me without thee
but...
i know you feel it,
you feel the soft grime on the path of enamour
the path that i’d paved for us to walk together.
even this day the cupids whisper in my ear
the melodious sound of your beating heart.
how do I tell you my musings
for the fear of separation hovers over me.
this epoch of time, unmoving
i keep quiet and move along with you,
silently.
-gurumali
Oh beloved,
I'm like Rumi without Shams.
A shivering summer soul,
secretly stalked by wild white winter wolves.
A chiffon child chiselling chimerical calligraphy,
cursed with invisible ink, silent in sentimental sighs.
I've become the son of solitude,
tired from torture and torment,
descending like surreal sinking sunsets shaded in scarlet,
yearning for a dawn where we can blend like sunrise.
I have no desire to write, but you cut my veins to bleed.
What is pain without pleasure,
or a poet without his poetess?
Oh mistress of the night,
I'll forever wait for you to adorn my garden,
to finally inhale the fragrance of my roses.
I'm the oil lamp in all your blackness,
sometimes I may flicker like a candle,
but I will always reignite to create a spark.
The day you stop reading my musings,
my pen will forever slumber.
Oh daughter of darkness,
let me salvage your light, place it into your eyes.
Guide my quill to engrave upon your shores.
Together we will sail away from Satan's spawn.
I'll shield you from twilight's beasts,
protect you from demons with crimson claws,
emancipate your wings to fly from an illusionary island.
Because,
you love the moon, but it's the stars you gaze at,
hoping their stardust will illuminate your heart,
before they fade into nothingness.
Oh my seclusive sweetheart,
I will strum strings of serenity,
so you release tears of tranquillity.
I may not be the most handsome blossom,
nor the most popular prolific poet,
but I gift you my art and alliteration.
Some may say I'm romantic,
but I am no judge of what is exotic or poetic.
We can't put all our faith in petals and poetry.
I'm no emperor who deserves an enchanting empress,
merely a broken butterfly in your precious palms.
Life is an absent bride,
so I'm not afraid to bleed to death,
in the hope of soothing tomorrows.
Silent One
4 December 2022
Miscellaneous, multifarious
These were my musings, mixed and various
Poems that were happy, poems so sad,
Left me heartbroken or cheerily glad.
Poems about people and nature and such
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all been too much
Questions arise as I struggle to find
The perfect balance of poetic kind
Are the lines a bit short? or are they too long?
Is the meaning too deep? or simply a song?
Is it telling the truth, or telling a lie?
Or wild imagination out on the fly?
Rubbish or nonsense, it’s all much the same
I won’t even try to give it a name
Once I would write, I would write every day
Then something happened, and it all went away
And try as I might, it is hard to regain
To coax fine words from an unwilling brain
Other poets I read, whose wise poems shine.
What on God’s good green earth happened to mine?
It’s been a long time, some ten years or more.
Perhaps a bit less, I’m not keeping score
But I’ll keep on trying in this the new year.
And hope that my muse will seek me out here
So this is my goal. I would like you to know.
Is it attainable? I surely hope so.
Yes, that is the role of the Teacher, as Shams was to
me – showing one ‘who they are’, so they can stop
bleating, crying at night, and never again be afraid.
Rumi
Oh beloved,
I'm like Rumi without Shams.
A shivering summer soul,
secretly stalked by wild white winter wolves.
A chiffon child chiselling chimerical calligraphy,
cursed with invisible ink, silent in sentimental sighs.
I've become the son of solitude,
tired from torture and torment,
descending like surreal sinking sunsets shaded in scarlet,
yearning for a dawn where we can blend like sunrise.
I have no desire to write
in your journal of sorrows,
but you cut my veins to bleed.
What is pain without pleasure,
or a poet without his poetess?
Oh mistress of the night,
I'll forever wait for you to adorn my garden,
to finally inhale the fragrance of my roses.
I'm the oil lamp in all your blackness.
Sometimes I may flicker like a candle,
but I will always reignite to create a spark.
Change the eternal chambers of my heart.
The day you stop reading my musings,
my pen will forever slumber.
Oh daughter of darkness,
let me salvage moonlight then place it into your eyes.
Guide my quill to engrave upon your shores.
Together we will sail away from Satan's spawn.
I'll shield you from twilight's beasts,
protect you from demons with crimson claws,
emancipate your wings to fly from an illusionary island.
Because,
you love the moon,
but it's the stars you gaze at,
hoping their stardust will illuminate your heart,
before they fade into nothingness.
Oh my seclusive sweetheart,
I will strum strings of serenity,
so you release tears of tranquillity.
I may not be the most handsome blossom,
nor the most popular prolific poet,
but I gift you my art and alliteration.
Some may say I'm romantic,
but I am no judge of what is exotic or poetic.
We can't put all our faith in petals and poetry.
I'm no emperor who deserves an enchanting empress -
merely a broken butterfly in your precious palms.
Life is an absent bride,
so I'm not afraid to bleed to death,
in the hope of soothing tomorrows.