Long Phosphorescent Poems
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Kate and Bram, so in love or so she thought, but he was after Kate’s rich cousin. Laura, was just as greedy for Bram’s striking good looks. Does lightning strike twice for Bram? Will he find happiness with his fiance’s kin? Kate was prettier, confident, sweet. He moves the candle over the treasure and concocts a vicious plot. Laura was guilty of one thing - she coveted what was not hers. Bram’s sin was greater.
WAXING OF CANDLELIGHT
Longing of candlelight - the shadows slim.
A flicker steps downstairs; She’s trembling down.
Kate’s tapered low-light tears, without a hymn.
Green spirit in her phosphorescent gown.*
She remembers Bram’s face, his smile. The bleed
of blush no longer stings - a swan-like snow
running from head to toe; done is the deed.
The late night storm will search - its fury grow.
The strike of lightning hate will court her beau.
He tripped a switch - she fell headlong for him.
The candle burns - the fire’s leaping stairs. Sow
And reap - the pyre-steeple of life and limb.
The separation - vinegar and oil.
Reunited, Kate shrieks - Bram’s on slow boil.
7/30/2021
A BRIAN STRAND SONNET
HMS used
*Green - 1) color 2) new
You entered my silence like a violin bow dragged with blood through shattered stained glass
I sewed your laughter under my eyelids and lungs, and the light transformed into myriads of fragrant wounds
I coughed wild moon petals for weeks, my mouth full of the echo of your ever-burning footsteps
There is no cure for you, you are the high fever that shapes bones into transparent crystal bells
You are the imperial chandelier fallen right in the middle of the sonata, when the air still trembles with flame and glass
And I lean daily among the shards, gathering your syllables like phosphorescent fish above my heart
I taste them with fear, checking if they still smell of sound, if they still shake the rooftops of my orbit
Every morning I bandage my lungs with sheet music, hoping that silence will flow from me
But the silence breaks anew and your echo returns like a kite torn by a storm
So I clutch your broken glass in my fists, to make it sound like the violin again
As a child, I yearned to glimpse the ghostly trace,
Wake at midnight, staring into the mirror's face,
Months passed by in this eerie, haunting quest,
Till one fateful night, fear put me to the test.
A sudden shriek escaped my trembling frame,
In that dim-lit room, I felt a ghostly claim,
Fainted in terror, yet fulfilled my desire,
For in that haunting moment, fear lit the fire.
Now beneath the cloak of shadows deep and dense,
Whispers of the Halloween night, a spectral presence,
Moonlight flickers, a ghostly pale,
Haunting tales within the moonbeam's trail.
Eerie winds whisper through skeletal trees,
A ghostly wail carried on the breeze,
Phantoms dance with ethereal grace,
In this haunted realm, lost in space.
Creaking doors and footsteps unknown,
Echoes of the past in a ghostly tone,
Phosphorescent eyes pierce the inky black,
A chilling shiver down the spine's track.
Dreadful silence fills the haunted air,
Echoing the souls lost in despair,
Midnight tolls with a mournful knell,
A symphony of fright in this ghostly spell.
On this night, I'll play it safe, no plight,
Beneath the moon's glow, witches take flight,
Should I stumble and cry out in fright,
Little ghosts and goblins would scatter, fleeing from my trick or treat sight.
Written: May 23, 2024, For Charlotte Puddifoot Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Always hear hollering hellhounds, yet nothing close, nobody home,
Paranoia, psychosis, schizophrenia, ponder lacked lucidity, pleaching, poohing...
Haggard horrors haunt house vapid vacuous voices vision vortex brain echolalia blizzard blurred,
Tongue-tied thesis tumbling thioridazine fragmented far-fetched foolish.
Calling a crisis center schizoid living outward echoing elusive illicit improper illusions,
Covert contact, surreptitiously scrambled temporal touch twisted, crazy confusion,
Crushed stone stillness devours daylight dubious demons daring devastation temped talking back
Lurking, leering, licentious, catatonic, gloom, diabolical hostility Asymmetry alien attack,
A hebephrenic sponge spotted sapidity, created from amorphous stardust
Spiritual medium anathematizes purest spirit, holy sight scrupulousness
Highly sensitive slip-hold around ethereal auric field questing for quetiapine quiddity,
Seraphic spirit shined with cyan mystical majesty under full light lavender moon,
Quid pro quo, eugenic resile lobotomized deflated phosphorescent schizophrenia
Ignoring magnificent mind suffered puerile mental wellness, without grasp: why!
The Invisible Strings of Black Light
I sing my mute blizzard on the stiffened string of full void,
the shrill echo of silence gently undoes time's curtain for me,
like a luminescent howl from a transparent sarcophagus,
that aspirates my breath through the pores of an effervescent abyss,
cacophonic symphony of angels with wings of calcified plague,
conducted by white crows singing in psalms of evaporated matter,
adorned with the phosphorescent keyboards of the abyss-color,
that blinds with its radiant blackness any lucid non-seeing,
abstract paintings of crystallized tears in dried blood,
a hypnotic rodeo of petrified butterflies in arrested flight,
metaphysical courtesans of a sterilized and eternal amor,
king without crown in the kingdom without throne and without stern,
where love is an amnesia that remembers everything in forgetting,
and presence is no longer needed to always be living disappearance,
my sinusoidal trajectory through a crystal of solid fog,
that wove our eternity into an exploded second,
to the nectarous curses floating through your granite thoughts,
the mosaic of my solar nights with fate's luminous catastrophes!
The grandfather clock solemnly struck two.
In the pitchy night, shadows seem to flit about.
I close my red rimmed eyes tight
Yet I can see all around me for sleep eludes me.
I lie on my bed like a dead crab on the hot sand,
not daring to move lest sleep evades me.
I imagine phosphorescent planes flying over fallow fields:
This is not a night dream that conducts to slumber.
For dreams can be soothing, this is anything but.
Almost dark despair as my tired eyes are wide awake.
I shut my eyes and imagine red full blown sails
weaving their way in a rubicund sunset
towards their berthing quays.
How quick they arrive and I am sleepless.
I think of you, dazzling and lovely,
covered in golden sand....like the crab.
No, no this does not work much for me.
The grandfather clock struck six.
Did I miss a beat? Did I sleep?
I don't know, I feel like the dead crab.
aye …
on such
divine evenings, thus,
are perfect odes not freely spun?
the Perseids, dancing their
jocund jigs -
capricious, evanescent stripes of
golden ire under a tapestry
of wonders …
watching rapt, ever-attentive,
streaking, burning ephemeral, as if the
gods themselves trace their
fingertips gently on
a phosphorescent brine …
but this, yet,
a sea of suns, amaranthine …
I wonder, could it be …
they are fleeting?
the hopes of idle angels, perhaps,
dying bright in the veil of Zion -
plunging to the earth
as if mortal …
perchance, they're pearls of Sol -
strands of liquid morning,
to adorn, pure, the breast of Heaven …
could be …
they're forsaken souls -
lost spirits, given one last chance to
burn their id on the firmament …
or even yet …
the wondrous wishes of children,
sparking to life in the midst of
their deepest dreaming,
and then … gone …
oh, surely,
it must be that,
their bright, momentary glory can
be meant for ONLY such
tender fancies,
the imaginings of youth,
the one fit and worthy vessel for
such runes …
and I, but their ever-willing caretaker …
picking each one from
the fiery vault like precious
gems from a parcel,
and plopping them, sweet,?
into the deep, soft pocket of my joys … thus,
on such divine evenings ...
aye!
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Shooting Stars" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Choice (5), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile One" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Cosmos" Poetry Contest, Thvia Shetley, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Spring" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Poem of the Day ~ on Poetry Soup.com, awarded August 7, 2017.
We grasp shadows flow over magenta light
in the crystal trails of tourmaline
yes, both of us will leave.
to the celestial abeyance of pasty white
neon embers in starburst trim
for now, I'll stoop and write.
Let's have a nap beneath the towering redwoods
we'll watch "forgets" fly with natural hammering
together, let's find out how to solve the mystery
lyrical hues in lustrous iridescence.
We just shrug our shoulders and cheerfully
understand our linked introspection
here, in the peaks, where the sun shines
let's soar with the creative spirit of life.
Blew away the flushed, blushing bliss
on her whispering wings
white fog rolls out onto the calm ocean
which gathers the incoming stillness
a phosphorescent steeple is adorned.
Strolling the fog-covered hills, gazing at the bay
let us sip moonbeams from the blazing lighthouse
sunlight swirled exotic zaffre mist in a ritzy haze
enjoying the warmth and the water shimmer
resting comfortably in a lovely night-line
Damselflies rose to the lush sky's eerie sighs
A hazy veil curves across huge terrains.
sunlight sparkles on the winding river
comfortable, long-drifting
to the whispering rouge
of a nuptial serenade
only time matters.
"There is time," she whispers
There will be plenty of time
Written: December 28, 2022
A Freed Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
"To the Dolphin alone, beyond all other, nature has granted what the best philosophers seek: friendship for no advantage" - Plutarch
~
water ...
as home to me as air
to slip through the day like ether
the cool aqua hugging
bounty of life and wonder and joy
depths as dark as midnight
mysteries of a fathomless complexity, keen
let my spirit run the waves!
let me bound and frolic the reefs and rolls!
let me breathe the air, divine
and sing to the stars, reflecting ...
let me stir the phosphorescent brine
and paint the sullen swells with glowing magic!
let me fill my gut with salty abundance
and dance atop the foamy blue ...
sweet sun on my back
and my pod about me in joyous fellowship!
laughing, smiling, thinking, playing ... Calypso's caretaker
I am of the sea, and the sea is of me
we are as one as the moon and moonlight
I am its lover and liege ...
it is my food and family ...
I am the bearer of its grace
its conduit to the air
the ocean's playful paramour
diving ... dancing ... daring ...
dolphin!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Brian's Select 9, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Butterflies as big as bats
with phosphorescent wings
My ears can’t speak
My mouth can’t see
My eyes begin to scream
Bugs are climbing up the walls
Spiders come out of my skin
My mattress melts into
tomato sauce
in which I start to swim
The ceiling spins in a circle
I’m holding my eyeballs in my hands
Pointing them at things
I want to see
but cannot understand
The TV walks across the room
There’s Myra Gulch
upon her broom
Jimi Hendrix rides a star
smashing bugs
with his guitar
Snakes appear upon my head
Look in the mirror
and I am dead
I point my eyeballs at the plate
all the mushrooms
I must have ate
Senses now in overload
Waiting for the crash to start
Sensing things I must leave untold
I swallow an eye and can see my heart
Falling
Bawling
Insides are crawling
Spinning
Sinning
The mushrooms are winning
Aching
Faking
Never reawaking
Crying
Dying
Nothing is complying
I wake up not knowing
How many hours may have passed
I’ll have to try those mushrooms again
That trip was such a gas