Long Phasing Poems
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~~~T H E I N T R E P I D P E G A S U S~~~
Star angels, dance within the quartered, light,
Of lunars rise, the age of Virgos' flight,
Sense its need for virtuous surrender,
And abandon Dragon's breathing thunder,
Phasing anew splits the night horizon,
For the course exposed to half, has brightened,
Some dynamic tempo, magically,
Whereto, the expanse defies gravity,
Ventures beyond dusk and stretches for dawn,
Greets the vested midst the foes, thereupon,
Enters Pegasus who stomps and stresses,
North Star alights as hooved clouds releases,
Whilst spread wings flick and cast flight, Pegasus,
Then heralds the advent of Genesis.
Date: 08/30/2019
howmanysyllables
14 x a perfect 10
***The entitled suggested background music to read to...
*Image of Opening by Pixabay.
"Never forget: we walk in hell, gazing at flowers." by, Kobayashi Issa
Transcendence
Into the dawn, one yearns to be normal,
A delicate breath of precious life gifts,
Self-assesses to be supernormal,
Advantageous climbing in phasing drifts,
Wonderment spontaneously fulfilled,
At every courtesy occasions shifts,
Illumination caused by the strong-willed,
The paranormal chameleon-like,
Acclimating fluctuations instilled,
Daring-do drives the zest of life to spike,
Charming lust of will justifies presence,
A spirited vigor gauge expose hike,
Purposed free will by our omnipresence,
The exalted one whom I like to share,
Engage a divine measure claimed pleasance,
Parts from creed as an unshackled Voltaire,
Summon the resolved that remain at ease,
Ancestral parlay, wing, and a prayer,
Whispers Roundtable a board of trustees,
Ancient, current, the will, channeling trance,
Fraughts, impediments, subside and appease,
Loves and losses, the eternal perchance,
Defended visions promise days advance.
2022 January 12
*1st Place*
A Strand (1068)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 February 08
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 9
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 January 25
in her star-stitched
s i l e n c e
she breathes ~
glass-winged h o p e
weaving angelic hymns
with lilac light
like a ballerina
draped in chiffon ~
pirouetting through poetry
amidst dusk kissed
by gloaming gold,
s w i r l i n g
origami spring
into a sky full
of paper planes
fleeting with
sakura secrets
serving the sinister
and serene
with citrine smoke
of seraphic dust…
so let l o v e rise
as the maternal Goddess
of nocturnal hours
she seeks
not the cursed
and crestfallen ~
familiar faces
masked
with jilted jasmines
and eagle feathers
lurking in
psychedelic shores
awaiting the downfall ~
like crashing comets
phasing upon the
lamented lighthouse
flickering
fickle flares
of pained
perspectives...
for the ones that sleep
in tree-high-retreats
counting frozen sparks
can never seize
as she is the
sunflower sigh
that dreams between
shifting colors
of azure leaves
a metaphor molded
from
the silver
of the moon’s ink
forgotten by thistles
and
thorns of t i m e ….
The epitome of a razzle-dazzle, sizzler twister woman is Ms. Phasing.
Other teachers watch her live her truth which is amazing.
She hears a tune that no one else is aware of, and she hears it well.
Prancing of her heart brings us joy and persuasion, both easy to sell.
The students all clamor to become part of her eccentric, electric class.
Even the ones with math phobia are excited with her upbeat-ful sass.
Always joyful, on a mission, rescuing dogs or saving a student or two.
If you have requests, I will swiftly introduce Mrs. Ph’s energy to you.
A lifelong learner, she knows every creature from Galapagos Island.
Marine iguana, penguin, tortoise, blue-footed booby all gently smile’n
She has run with the bulls, bungee jumped, skydived over the Amazon.
If you bore her in any way she will swiftly and quickly be gone.
Lover of all things green, two-legged, four legged and eight legged too.
If Ms. Phasing has glitter, paint, miscellaneous objects and glue.
Her students adore her, there is never a boring or dull day in her room.
Her class wait list is amazing, even now, when we all meet on Zoom.
I begin,
with spearmint breath, barefoot, and hushed skin
woken are earth’s aromas of prayer and namaskar
spilling intentions auspicious a focused vow within,
with a promising salutation to the resending rising star
for the faded filaments of ashy ailments, as well
I hear their praises of open routes and yellow brick roads,
fast tracks to filigree of fulfillments where egos swell
gritty goals, lickety-split in their surrealistic abodes
its competition stirs the soul, yet their ebbing eyes be blind
to suit oneself and not the self, the soul-search sold,
to stay true becomes onerous of an untruth abstract mind
The scribbler’s hastened house upholds,
phasing flowers into a creative expression explored,
literary archaic yet no soul from muse’s molds
some choose to pull from brutal banks previously implored
A game of Scribbage, the deal, the play, the show,
noted nothing less nor nothing more,
vintage vantage, a cribbage of blank blurt we all know
forgetful is the fact that we’re all amateurs
Take my savory words you, I’ll take yours if kind,
let go the ways to wicked wharfs, it’s the way to putrefy
away from stagnate depths of opaque layers grind
for those without weakness those of you rise
without the wormwood shells of bitter taste
the lower plains and the pains and alibis
of watering wells d i s p e l l i n g waste
There’s innocence in our hearts
an inner chamber where the divine never dims
there's a purposeful purity that never parts
it lives inside once broken down, our bones and limbs
it fills the ovoid, gives opportunity, I end with this,
as an appointee, in a designated avatar,
in n o w mindful we won’t miss
as we are receptors of higher light,
held above varmint vestments tsar
we transform our image gone the dark knight
There’s a secret garden inside, drunk on lovestruck swilling
becoming well known, follow the pathless path amidst
to the road I’m on, there, the sacred wells worth drilling,
the one path known as blessed bliss
—A Monk of Quiet Quest
the sky resonates
with what’s written in the silk of stars,
in pulse-burned pensiveness,
penned in poignancy,
personifying pain
with yellow-gold dust,
where lament liquefies and softens
into an ethereal lake,
chronicling it with surging blue sparks ~
an evening elixir, enveloped
in confetti cravings…
this l o v e knows not
the ingredients of
ephemeral effervescence,
as the thriving tip of twilight
manifests the magic of want,
whilst I tremble,
engrossed in the thought
of moon-flame touch,
brimming,
brewing,
breathing
across cups of catharsis,
concocted with caffeinated calmness ~
aligning the inner innocence
still longing in loneliness,
amidst seated strangers
lost in their own appetizing lyrics,
clothed in cold cobalt colors,
unaware of the emptiness
they feed their mindless muse
from superficial spoons
filled with smoke and silence ~
like scattered illusions,
illustrated with surreal ink…
what if I hold onto forever fallacies
hiding within?
would I be promised
a peaceful plate of patience
beneath ineffable iridescence ~
for I’ve feverishly struggled
to rephrase the verdicts behind
faces phasing in the haze of life,
sipping sorrow
as if it were mocha ~
balmy, bittersweet,
burning in sync with my
Swarovski crescent crooning
lullabies to diamonds dancing
in infinite nebulae,
carrying secrets the table holds,
served in sincere oblivion…
and I am still learning and healing
the soul’s breaking lines,
to leave lovelorn reveries
without losing the light of lucidity,
letting go of their narrow narrative
of me and my ache ~
of us and our heat,
as even the routined routes
could not erase what’s
handwritten in a heart made heavy…
so wait not for the
rise of supernova sanguinity ~
I am not the warmth of woven woes.
I am a charismatic chameleon,
~ c o m p l e x ~ cautious ~
catching comet-notes,
camouflaged in melancholic versions
of humankind,
hiding vulnerability
within firm flares of vivid vibrations…
O beloved night,
on this terrace, I devour, not alone,
but evermore lonely,
i m m e r s e d
in the forlorn frequency
of stellar fire…
Time - tormentor tic-tocks on going
Deep darkness daunting tickings
little phasing seconds mounting
In a kingdom full of minutes
When I thought of the time
Somewhat louder than the climb
Only this and a date
I am scorn of my wait
That second walk - that second walk
I crave the high, higher hour time daunting tickings
member I was awaiting
Only this and a hour daunting tickings
I crave the unswayed, unmoved update
That moment my soul grew tarry
It threw its ghost against the minutes
I crave the scheduled, short-time surrender
against the minutes
tick-tok-tic tock seconds, minutes, hours
Days, weeks, months, years, decades, generation
8/16/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
When the heart feels the
weight of unvoiced verses,
as the verdant embers of Venus
follow the frozen warmth
and the permafrost flickers
of persimmon and cinnamon,
like poetry slipping through
tortured time,
I stand at the cusp of
withering wishes,
like the silver of Luna phasing
above the lamented lighthouse,
cemented with mistrust,
embedded with uncertainties,
afraid of the crashing crystals
cradling my claustrophobic psyche…
O silent scribblers,
scrolling through words of woe,
forgive my impulsive ink.
I’ve long been a runner,
fleeing familiar fickleness,
exhausted and drained
in the midst of melancholy
that lingers across forlorn pages,
like coldness amidst a summer breeze,
like darkness dwelling
in the driftwood dust
of dawning dreams and rising roses,
rinsed with regrets of musky musings.
I race through miles of solitude,
chasing nirvana,
escaping the shackles
of black-thorn springs,
where breathing seems
like a miscalculated
step to misery and interrogation...
I am a misread flame,
entwined with forgotten footfalls,
reveling in solitude,
where sonnets of love
and elegies of sorrow
no longer pierce my soul,
like rusted steel.
I drown in syllables of zen,
alone but not lonely,
silent but not silenced,
anchored in the aesthetics
of self-love and serenity,
hypothesized by
the hesitant galaxies,
as if I am the conceited constellation
that wanes when
storms stir my senses.
But I refuse to pull the stars
into the hellish arms
of vagueness,
so this is me
saving you from
sweltering soliloquies
while homing
fragments of lucidity on
my own astral avenue…
A dark blue midnight awning has its portrait,
etched by a starlit silver lustrous galaxy,
silhouette of black lace frilled clouds,
in somber quietude adrift beneath a vibrant pearl,
amber moon whose gleaming radiance bemused awhile,
at the stark underbelly of flickering candles,
that the urban nocturne spellbound revel in perchance,
sleep pattern held captive by ethereal bliss,
angelic dreams wrapped in opal tincture,
what optic relishes await at early first light,
a colourfast dawn unveils it’s bronze bespoke banner,
heaven bound yellow flare insouciant whim,
red orange burst sky a stirring presage,
for wingspan flight of stone gray plume creature,
natural world usher whose gold throat cadence,
rouses wonderment among the persimmon trees,
phasing into human yearning for awestruck omen,
Kashmir bright velvet hue azimuth a scant gem,
yet sapphire orb twinkles close or distant lure
might embolden dull minds with ardent spark
Blue ~ is the door of uncertainty,
carved with letters of lime green,
with antique amulets
hung on sterling strings,
like teardrop dreamcatchers,
framing the anatomy
of healing heartbeats.
And I am an aching epiphany~
an archived souvenir
in rusted memories,
wrapped in the
ice-caged clutch of angst,
soaked in shivering shimmers,
wishing and praying~
love would blindfold my soul
with jasmine hymns,
lace my skin with lilac,
as I still t r a c e
your face amidst twilight iris,
painting blurred visions
with poetic tears ~
sprouting magnolia metaphors,
phasing moon’s spellbound sagas,
while pink is
the nocturnal night-lamp,
reflecting rosemary runes,
too fragrant for the mirrors that breathe
not beyond shallow floors,
and feel not the halcyon heat
of diamond drapes...
O wallpaper wishes,
embossed with
glass wings of paradise,
I long to soar
beyond tethered thresholds,
where guilt is a myth
and darkness unlocks
a meadow of romanticized memoirs.
So unchain the heavy handles,
closeting misery in seclusions,
while dusk stretches
through blackout veils of gold,
stroking purple pillows
bathed in unspoken sorrow.
For in the corners of soundless confusion,
I sing stars, weaving wild-petals
on the tip of trembling truth,
l o s t in the luminous light~
l u r k i n g
and
s w i r l i n g
between
soft sighs of the sun
and velvety veins
of swollen s i l e n c e.