Long Paradisiacal Poems
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You’re right… the version of you in my head is so much better than realities you.
Wish I could jump into your body and see me from your point of view.
Genuine love….. for when I look at you it is as if I have eaten every butterfly;for this sensation is too sureal.
Oh when I look at your eyes so paradisiacal yet filled with despair; longing for a lonely soul to come along and help you heal.
You’re right….maybe I try to hard but I want you to be mine
Although you want nothing to do with me I think of you all the time.
But instead I don’t; I think of the you from my mind.
not the one who isolates themself and walks past me as if they’re blind.
I think of the person who likes me and reminds me that they do.
The one who hugs me and constantly say “I love you”
But that isn’t you and you’re not them. For i had let my idiotic delusion get the best of me.
But now I am set free; as I come to this realization and the tears fall from my eyes I give you thanks for helping me realize , for allowing me to pursue you even though nothing was requited
Even if I had tried and begged for you day after day there's no way that we could hide it.For to you I was a diptera who bothered you daily.
But to me you were my savior from the outside world, Although my Maladaptive daydreams may have get the best of me , the truth is i'm just an “crazy” girl; who thinks the world of you, but only unrequited love is returned.
which sadly just tells me that your love was something that i never earned.
I write the truth not out of spite, but to simply state that you were right.
Pain it's back again
Coursing through each vein
Pain it never leaves
Consuming me for its needs
Pain hangs on me
Theres no where to hide or flee
Pain my bestest friend
Haunting me to no end
Pain emotional physical
It's no luxury or paradisiacal
Pain lies in wait
Pouncing no need for bait
Pain arrives unannounced
Staying for hundreds of rounds
Pain has no relief
Its nothing but a life theif
Pain haunts my life
With destruction and strife
Pain owns my mind and body
With no antidote or antibody
Pain rules my whole life
I just wish I could have the sweet relief of the afterlife.
Why is it that when we are so hurt
we when can create the most beautiful masterpieces?
How we dream of being happy
but find complacencies and deny,
even ignore a need for an outlet?
Perhaps, I have never experienced a true level of pure bliss
A level where talent streams out of me
birthing a prized gem
I am so thankful for my creative escape, away from suffering
But I must admit it is ironic;
that it pours out of me in my most emotionally agonizing moments
I can only imagine, the amazing days when joy can have a volcanic effect
of bubbling and oozing
shooting up with a delight that streams off my pen to the paper
To physically be beaming as I create and compose my inner euphoria
in a paradisiacal state of mind
What heavenly words would my lips express through the incandescent smile fixed upon my overjoyed face?
With tears of elation gushing down my cheeks, splattering on my paper,
in place of the too familiar brokenhearted current ones
Would they taste different?
Perhaps my taste buds would savor the flavor of prosperity
So much sweeter than the salty ones I'm used to
One day I hope to know
I long to know how a full, adored heart feels in my chest as it beats
I bet it is much different than the empty, shallow flicker
I wonder if a rhythm of the pulse, with a healed heart sounds cheerful?
Like a favorite song that happily gets stuck in your head
I think it must sound loud and proud
as if it wanted to show off how whole,
completely filled with enthusiasm for daily life it is!
Yet for now, I can only pretend to know
I will keep imagining, trying to harness it
Until I am there
Then I will know with out question
Born a Christian in the fertile womb of a blessed land,
A paradisiacal genesis for a continent chained to imperialism.
Genocides cascading beneath the crumbling altar of human rights.
They crucified my humanity
With demonic chimeras.
I have dragged my zinc coffin since birth
Across the minefields of these greedy philanthropists.
I carry the age-old weight of curses
Of my zombified people since the slave trades.
They do not want me to sanctify my traumatized Africanness
With the blessings of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
I am guilty like Jesus Christ
And innocent like the soiled hands of a child soldier.
I have never enjoyed the riches of my partitioned continent.
These scavengers have spread hatred in my people’s hearts for centuries.
My tormented mind is the vault of horrors
That the West has perpetrated in the cradle of my ancestors.
These criminals want me to curse Lucifer
As if he were responsible for centuries of dehumanization
Of my forebears in the Americas.
The devil will never be my enemy,
I have never met him.
Human savagery has nothing metaphysical about it.
My indelible scars are not fictitious remnants.
He called me a filthy *****,
He discovered the face of my love.
He will no longer have the courage to insult my genetic code.
I scourged him with the laws of the Code Noir
Of the Republic of slaveholding Enlightenment.
I share the same skin color as Osiris,
The same beauty as those colored pharaohs.
The journey is scarred,
The traumas, too silent.
I fight in the death row corridor
To remain a man of integrity.
To write the darkness of my feelings,
A liberating outlet for my demons.
I chose integrity in the meanders of precarity.
In another life, I would wield guitars
To escape the whims of misery.
Serenity, my only solution in this dimension.
I think of the reaper every day,
Like a man condemned to death.
effervescent swirling clouds
in turquoise summer skies
float like flocks of fair sheeps
in far away exuberant fields
beneath are cyclopean cypresses
touching celestial bosom
in deep periwinkle and corn flower
whilst wheat fields
are golden fleece
waltzing with the west wind
oh, how can I forget
the paradisiacal poppies
sitting placidly along the wayside
like your eyes glisten
in your pensive mood
unaware of my presence
9 March 2021
Notes:A Wheatfield with Cypresses is any of three similar 1889 oil paintings by Vincent van Gogh, as part of his wheat field series. All were exhibited at the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole mental asylum at Saint-Rémy near Arles, France, where Van Gogh was voluntarily a patient from May 1889 to May 1890. The works were inspired by the view from the window at the asylum towards the Alpilles mountains.(Photo and info credits to Wikipedia)
All Yours (March 22) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
Some days poetry flows
sometimes it is just words.
In the final spring - a poet
yearned for an immaculate blossom,
for his fingertips to bring a painting into life - to
meticulously cultivate and craft a masterpiece.
I recall an opal oasis full of pearl petals,
glittering with rows of diamond orchids,
citrine marigolds, moonstone lotuses,
and garnet roses surrounded by
amethyst lavender and sapphire bluebells.
craving for his mastery.
In a distant meadow,
consumed with faithless flock
grazing dead leaves -
there you bloomed from bronze roots,
an enchanting flower held by an emerald sepal.
In your flattery,
he became a willing devotee,
seduced by the scent of your paradisiacal petals.
But in your admiration he neglected
his selfless blooms,
unaware of wicked weeds
wandering in eidolic fields.
At sunset he would mirror the stars
and follow you like fireflies at midnight,
Serenade you with mystical lullabies,
evoking a sense of serenity,
but in the deception of dawn
you prioritised the sun,
over his soothing moonlight,
so you wilted, withering,
dripping in dewdrops.
In your servitude,
he placed you in the
greenhouse of his heart,
to protect you from the arrival of autumn,
but gaslighting gardeners,
sliced all of his intimate stems,
allowing satanic rain
to poison your spirit.
In the darkness, which dilates his eyes,
the pain still penetrates like a bitter blade
and he has become a forgotten gardener,
with dead seeds of scepticism
sowed into his soul.
I always weep for you in the hush of eventide hills.
In their mystical muteness I can hear your heartbeats.
As tears indulge in indigo dusky deepening horizons,
I put my hope in the last morning star which lusters
upon waves with sapphire iridescence shades of eternity,
flowing upon seashell shores stroking your sacred footprints.
Ever since your opulent hypnotic essence
stole the innocence of my lucent purity,
you've left me drunk on the wine of passion.
I'm stumbling like a drunkard in the dappled depth of desire,
with my provocative facade forming into a bodacious flame,
searching for my poetic pearl lost in a sea of mauve enchantment.
Wailing winds have discoloured my eyes with stained illusions,
in their darkness, I yearn for your sunlit glimmer to reappear.
I've been kissing the emptiness of porcelain moonlight,
since you left behind the taste of your fragrant lullaby.
Wondering if my kiss illuminated the ebony entities,
veiled inside your mystique of midnight eyes.
Visions of your majestic scarlet seraphim lips,
poised in sultry pulsation, forever flutter,
floating like blended opal and onyx butterflies.
Their tender beauteous softness merging
like ambrosia echoes of a cocoon, composing
the sweetness of saccharine symphonies,
caressing my soul like a magnolia breeze.
Oh my beloved ethereal lover,
will I be forever dreaming of your paradisiacal grace,
seeking your celestial scent from dusk till dawn?
Won't you gift me one shimmery glimpse
of your rialto rosette silhouette.
Forever wrap me in the sanctuary of your satin wings,
like the warm merino shawl of love's allure.
Why leave me in this state of silent saudade,
where I hunger for the silken hymn of your tongue.
Why bless me with such treasures,
only to deprive me?
The Silent One
27 December 2022
Written: October 05, 2023
___________________________________________________________
Where the paradisiacal angels reside.
A myriad of creatures, ebony and betide
A dinkum dissolute and a discreet divine,
A degree of dexterity, a denizen decline
Amidst the mahatmas and zeitgeist calls,
An indweller quests for lyricism thrall.
A martyrdom route, an incubus chase,
Eristic battles in the realm of grace
A proponent of verity, a wraith of anile,
Sought to indwell the hearts of enamel.
A sip of soma, a savor of seraglio supine,
Agnostic beyond, for the geist did shine.
Destructive metempsychosis, a mortal plight,
Internal battles, seeking inspirational light.
In the realm of the departed, desolate cries
A crybaby tears, but awe-inspiring skies
Departed souls, once heartsick and heartsore,
Find solace in the trust they restore.
For in the internal depths, a spark ignites.
And as the decedents rise, their souls bear flight.
Absolve afreets, the anxiousness abides,
Embrace the beatitude; sublimity resides.
Rawness of a sentimentalist, troubadour song,
The immanence of duende is pantywaist wrong.
In the realm of the spiritual, the snarl of sin,
Is replaced by beatitude, the soul's win.
Spotless and unsullied, cleansed of all pain,
The spiritual journey is the ultimate gain.
They sully the cosmic force with opulence.
Yet, the sunny glow of bliss starts radiance.
A troll in the netherworld, forlornness abounds,
In the cognition of theosophy, the soul rebounds.
What you had yesterday that
I have today and what
I have today
That must be yours tomorrow.
We have been made
Solely to perform on stage
In well and woe.
Just think...
What if we were not born?
We'd not feel the
Gentle touch of mother,
The sweet
Fragrance of flower,
The appearance
Of the sun,
The delectable call of fountain,
And the taste
Of our paradisiacal earth.
But today we have
All together in compact.
Still Time will come
To take all away.
He needs no permission at all.
All possessions must be
Like dust in the storm.
Our stone like body will remain
Under the jolly sky,
On the motherly
Ground around the sweet smells.
But how much pain
When we'll wish to
Have them all to quench
The heavy hearts but fail.
I can't hold...I can't hold...
More painful when
Dear mother will say, 'O my gold,
Wake up! Wake up!'
And I can't get up even if
I understand her motherly voice.
Good night my playful heart, waltz merrily in fairy dreams
Reveling in memories of beloved blissful blossoming springs
Engaging her wishes in music of gentle whispering winds
Ascending to ecstasy, eliciting elatedly what romance is
Traversing the night-sky, stargazing in her doting company.
Exhilarating in her imagination of euphoric utopian abode
Sketch for me what you mean by paradisiacal place on earth
Captivating sensuous desires longing to inhabit Elysium,
Affirm to my anxious world: fantasy never dwells in sorrow
Playing for her on keys of piano, pleadings of my eternal hope
Ecstatic to awaken me, when she acquiesces to call of love.
January 11, 2020
Poem of the day on January 13, 2020
Placed 1st: Great Escape poetry contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placed 3rd: Strand any form contest by Brian Strand