Long Pulsating Poems
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Bard of Soups Hearts
Brings joy to our days in so many ways
All types of poetry penned that amaze
Reading is pleasure one has to agree
Distinctly good are tales from history.
One who is well read, knowing a lot too
Fables that teach some what they never knew.
Side splitting poems, laughing till we cry
One’s never bored when this poet stops by
Uplifting, inspiring, motivating
Pleasing, delighting and captivating
Some sensual that sets hearts pulsating.
Here’s to the bard, may your poems live on
Every one an epic, second to none
Anyone with heart would love every write
Raising heartbeats like music of the night
There’s one further thing I should mention
Sums you up so surely - ‘tis perfection.
8th February 2021
Last two lines are the Bard’s own, from two separate poems.
Line of Inquiry:
"a heartbeat pulsating as living light
free from each and every limitation
I Am that dwelling in unbound delight
the source wherefrom arises creation"
A soul of purest essence
an eternal consciousness
I am ultimate truth
rivers of justice run through
I am an ongoing metamorphosis
becoming a butterfly
every moment
I hold on, but don't cling
laugh, cry and sing
Wrongly downtrodden,
A sheep coated in fake black paint
They forgot to use a permanent
marker
I persist, resist, real and really transparent
Workable, reasonable - a changing wind
who listens to the other side
then will ride off into
everything
Feel the feather that tickles your awareness
with fairness. It's only me you've met
and you wont forget
Trapped in what I cannot trust,
A vessel flooding with settled assumptions,
Bitter tears, and angry eruption
This body is not mine, but the world,
Trickling in evil trepidation,
Smiles of corruption,
And frowns of devastation
A body that towers over my frame
And begs to be understood
I may at times cool its waters,
And give its restless soul breath to breathe,
But I cannot dream to stop the torrent as it seeps through my everything
Your eyes,
They see so much,
Do your visions not soon settle into other minds far from their own
Or is this body filled in tepid air of destructive ego,
Feeding on my pulsating empathy,
Crashing doubt and worry in me?
Your passions and intelligence surpass my own,
But every tear of inadequacy brings me closer to the truth,
Every striking chord you play upon my heart resounds out of my mind and onto my lips
Your screams and shouts for attention wrench out the core of me
And in you, for you, I give
Not once expecting any token in return
For whom with our own bodies, our own souls, and our own minds
Do we give and give relentlessly?
Who in this wide, wide world has not held the planet in shame,
Pride of our own being, gripping our world in those anxious palms...
I am in you, and before you
This body I am, that I will always hold
I understand now,
Yes,
I understand you...
A sad moon rises this night.
While emptiness fills a lonely cup.
The stars have fallen from sight,
love has died, eyes faced up.
All the roses bend, turning brown.
Here covered in blackness, I'll drown.
Streching forth my hand out,
to grasp the empty air.
Clutching my loneliness and doubt,
to scream life is unfair.
Finding no heart to care.
Where do you turn,
when love is broken?
How deep the burn,
when tears have spoken?
Confusion now reaps,
from passion's cause.
My heart weeps,
pulsating still,
losing will,
dying.
For Andrea Dietrich's contest I Don't Know
Form:
In bejeweled jade landscape
the topaz terrain rolls
as wondrous waves,
undulates with
sculpted panorama
of captivating cadence,
entrenches in earthen frame
the sprawling shape
of a placid lake,
sublimely sparkling,
the shining sapphire face
looking up entranced
toward the cerulean sky,
spread serene on
boundless blankness.
The southern zephyr
whispers enticing melody
to the rhapsodic ripples,
rolling aquatic rhythm,
intensely passionate,
stretching in seraphic span
of self-centric array,
sliding on slithering shadows
of the dancing trees,
lining the contorted contours
of the splashing shore,
emerald adorned.
Malachite lotus leaves
float flamboyant
with pulsating fervor,
the ruby flush
of full bloom
makes the collage
of fiery fresco
with fanning feathers
of flaming flamingos,
their ballerina legs wading
the lazuline waters
in avian grace,
supple napes swiveling
in charismatic concerto
of aquatic ballet,
rapturous recital
performed unruffled
in hypnotic gleam
of the setting sun,
chromatic spectrum
composes the sonata
for lacustrine opera.
The desolate wasteland of deprivation traversed
by my jagged life that tried so long so very hard
to smoothen the angularities of the serrated mind,
swirling in the egregious whirlpool of indignation.
Sucked into sordid abyss of despondent delirium,
I searched out for myself a path of passion within,
leading through the pulsating portal to my heart,
not yet frozen in the prolonged winter of despair.
The spring of yearning came with fragrance of fervor,
drifting on the dreamful wings of the sensuous time,
from the flowers of my blooming heart where you flew
like a butterfly creating cadence of surreal symphony.
Harmonized with the mesmeric music of my longing,
enthralled emotions danced on the ripples of rhapsody
that rolled between you and me to entwine us forever,
consecrated the concept of concealed craving called love.
You let it bloom with the floral design of fervent desire,
the patina of silky petals would shine till the end of time.
____________________
September 3, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest
The hesitation of spring is found
in the late-season, early-morning snow.
Melting slowly in the warmth of the dawning day.
Imperceptible blossoms, too small to catch
the mirror of the common eye, drink hard.
Then late afternoon, come showers brief and brittle,
pulsating like a thousand heartbeats on the pavement,
with full apology of mist and parted clouds,
revealing sunlight and warmth.
There is no headlong rush of running steps
or breathless shouting voice announcing it’s arrival.
It’s easy-winding melancholy hard
with all attending bumps and bruises;
a game of rough-house football in the yard.
Fun-frantic serious, dragging it’s way into
the late evening dark way past
what we think a spring should be. It’s late.
Offering only excuses of bluster and fuss.
But then I wonder, should we ask?
What spring might think of us.
In pristine jade topography
terrain rolls up and down...
panorama of silent cadence,
on its entrenched cradle
shaped for a serene lake…
sublimely supine,
sapphire crystal face looks up
toward the cerulean sky…
silky span vast.
The gliding southern zephyr
whispers enticing melody
to the dancing ripples…
intensely passionate,
sliding on slithering shadows of trees
lining the contours of lapping shore…
alluringly reclined.
The wavering lotus leaves float
on rhythm of pulsating fervor,
the full bloom scarlet flush
makes collage of fiery tapestry
with feathers of flaming flamingos,
their ballerina legs wading
emerald waters in avian grace,
their supple napes swiveling
in arty show of aquatic ballet.
In hypnotic gleam of the setting sun
I watch the lacustrine opera…
silently enthralled.
April 5, 2019
aspects of the flame
seeded in a descending arc
have each been capsuled in cocoons
floating in perfect elliptical orbits
in the matrix of space-time
separation is illusionary
being but an idea in the mind
that hypnotised by dancing shadows
dreams within dreams the cage
the flame of Self is veiled
by power of magnetism
ever pulsating in toroidal heart
all scattered energies therein converge
union gives rise to boundless bliss
manifest universe disappears
poised outside space-time
the Self renews itself within itself
as one without a second feeling complete
bereft of attributes free from fetters
dwelling in ineffable peace
LANTERNE PHRASIS 1
A childhood flashback,a yesterday dream
symbols from the clutter of life,in
slow motion,descending & suspended
in space.Caught in the daydream,this
rainbow of the mind,distracted blurs
of destiny’s tears through the looking glass
and landscapes of the mind.A personal
portrait,a painting of passion pulsating
in a manicured dream of private fantasy.
Painterly hues splashed & without direction
and uncontrolled zest.A collection of the
soul in a patchwork quilt of lost love,
reflected & mirrored in the heart.
From my Lanterne poetry publication 2005
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro