Long Serendipity Poems
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I am awoken from a restful sleep aware of the fresh air
the open window brings as she begins to sing
it is the sound of the loon calling me to her side
I stride towards the beckoning sound and her shore
as the door swings open to a new dawn and a rising sun
the early morning mist departing to reveal her beauty
she is glass like this day, stillness the allure
her stillness belies her truth that she can be rough enough
as I stand beside her admiring the horizon she willingly displays
my ears are attune to her lapping sounds, my heart calm
launching my canoe I begin to paddle amidst her blueness
each stroke like the combing of her hair with twirls and curls
today she allows me to glide with ease yet she can also be a tease
the gentle breeze now professed can transform into a mighty storm
it is within her grace that she allows me this place of serenity
for she could as easily sweep off my serendipity with a rough sea
sounds of gulls take my eyes upwards into the clear blue sky
watching them soar all the while jealous of their ability for flight
a honking sound now has me looking to my right to catch sight
of a gaggle of geese in mid-flight her back their launching pad
and without warning there’s a splash as a fish leaps into the air
in search of its morning dish of insect and bugs, as it dives
back into the water, its sanctuary, its home I am reminded again
of her kindness that she provides in sheltering bays
her gentle waves taking me on a journey into the depths
of this lake they call Placid
Andreas Simic©
They treated me for bipolar disorder.
I wanted you to know.
Although the doctors later said
it was the Adipex-p and weed
mimicking
an up-and-down disease—
it hasn’t happened since.
I still think it was more than that.
Hard to believe
it’s been more than twenty years—
that fourth of July,
when I read your mind at the Washington Mall,
and ran off to watch fireworks
alone in the grass.
It was wet, and I could tell—
you thought I was magic.
You walked toward me
Christmas morning in the summer evening,
said, didn't think I’d ever find you.
You can see how the backdrop
of that moment conspired
to spell out fate: the night
convincing,
the air exploding in support of it,
I came to—
in a hospital,
you still looked like Clark Gable,
but your mythical gait
was just a limp—
you’d played baseball in college.
My ESP had just been synapses
cracking communal phrases inside my skull,
masquerading as serendipity
in wolf's clothing.
all of it—
an embarrassment.
You stopped returning
my messages, after I underlined
phrases at random
in a Chicago weekend newspaper,
then tried to get you to believe
with me.
I drew a picture of Ganesha
in the margins as further evidence
of our destiny as gods.
When the mind starts shuffling
everything it's ever touched
with Vegas-dealer speed,
it doesn’t take much to get to
a version of the story where we're Holy.
You could’ve easily taken advantage,
but you didn’t. I think you knew
I’d have let you.
Wish you were here.
REALISATIONS
matters
of the
heart
an
evolving
inspiration
togetherness
a
precious
sound
still
playing
a
well
of
awakening
in
a night
of
serendipity
hitherto
unknown
a
commonplace
of
reflective
introspection
initial
openness
in
noticeable
intent
envisioned
observed
&
displayed
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
fruitful is each breath, unpremeditational
dolphins jumping calm sea diagonal
as bumble bee pauses on swaying daisy
industry’s pollen for human folk’s honey
we all are lucky, don’t you see ?
sun rising each morn or hiding in winter
eclipsed by nebula, floating arbitrary blinkers
circling purest love within core soaring
unexpected finches settle, chirping linger
fertile soil unsolicited beneath our feet fortuitous is Gaia, gravity’s a blue-green feat
coffee’s black, sweet an incidental treat
incremental is our luck, not accidental
dribbling raindrops on window pane inadvertent
allow scribbles of verses in puddle concerted wings of wind float seeds, land lacy across loam
nothings by chance, sometimes we roam
naught’s coincidental, every positive serendipity underscores a negative
balance of forces appears chance, though every cookie’s appearance is
ALL’s intention dance
fortuitously I uncovered ageless trace of own
sixty-fourth gene codon, gleaning my life’s purpose previously unseen —- to be
transformational-inspirational poetry was genome’s message unhesitational ~
seemed random, opportune gift graces
unveiling heavenly aces
____________________________
SECOND PLACEMENT : Premier Contest
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
April 26
Four things come not back:
the spoken word; the sped arrow;
time past; the neglected opportunity.
Omar Ibn Al-Halif, Aphorism
___________________
On a beautiful Fall day- I went for a café,
pushing open the shop door, I bumped into a man,
pardon me, I said shyly (for he was quite handsome).
On my table I placed my café, my journal and pen,
ready to write a poem or two or perhaps an observation.
Then the "handsome" man is asking, may I join you?
Until that moment, I had not considered him relevant.
Inside, I was quivering with possibilities!
This turn of events could be a worthwhile opportunity,
if I let things progress in a timely manner.
Each word he said spoke to my ravished heart-
Star bright eyes, rosy cheeks, ruby lips, stepping stone words.
Such a smooth talker that I was soon quite smitten.
Everything about him was desirable and pleasant to me, so
reaching into that adventurous side of my personality, I
engaged in this mating dance-
Nothing can be thrown away, especially when it comes to love.
Do you believe in windows of opportunity? I do. And,
in time we were talking head to head quietly, two
people like-minded meshing into one entity, touching hands.
In life sometimes love can burn for just a moment, and be
taken by the wind in the next-
You must never, ever neglect a serendipity opportunity.
_____________________________
October 22, 2016
Quote with Acrostic
For the contest, Opportunities
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place
Theme:
Nazrul Song :
The eternal mid-fielder jersey, won't you have thy mercy?
The eternal mid-fielder jersey, won't you have thy mercy?
The ever-young heart, with a malleable intricate
Time took you away, gypsy mood, heard.
a solitude in contemplation, my reverie Lord!
In space , out there, out beyond
An absorbed state of whim, for lowly low, this body
A morale, breakable rule for an unbroken time, lulls on
a solitude in contemplation, my reverie lord!
stars and sun, and moon, playtime when days delight, yours
The indifferent, you
lying all and all, beneath thy feet
In platoons of fleet
The ordinary day with a grand, still, in nitty gritty
In glum and glee, only a tranquil serendipity
In whim of a smile, a tear of a soul, paired for evermore
a solitude in contemplation, my reverie lord!
Come kiss me baby and I’ll light your fire
I’ll melt you like the center of the sun
impassioned flame will sexy strum your lyre
in molten vibes of music - one on one
together we will fly the solar wind
on silky whispered thrills we both will ride
in ecstasy we’ll feel just like we’ve sinned
seductive absolution satisfied
so touch your lips to mine and we’ll explode
a supernova of our cosmic lust
sweet sparks we’ll make let brightness be bestowed
on universe - our love affair a must!
in melted stardust ink I write your name
on serendipity that’s yours to claim
Susan Ashley
March 30, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: Sonnet's Salutation
Sponsor: William Kekaula
we live behind palace walls
“I’m in love,” I said, sighing into the fall-like, Paris afternoon, “I have to admit it.”
My 85 year old uncle Remy, gently stirring a pitcher of American martini he was conjuring, said, “You should marry an insignificant lawyer - if you’re going to have a cross-class love affair.”
Uncle Remy was a lawyer, of sorts, once.
“I think you’re leading the witness,” I said, looking down at my shoes.
“I’m in love with my Havaianas,” I clarified - my new, white, square-toed flip-flops.
“Besides, no one thinks in terms of class any more - and Peter and I are NOT an asymmetrical match or relationship or whatever.”
But it got me thinking. Half, or more, of what Uncle Remy says is politically incorrect. And I don’t judge him harshly..
I wrote, last week, about a guy who
(gasp) told me he found me attractive
like it was some crisis.
Hadn’t I schemed to get with Peter? (my bf).
And hadn’t he admitted that he’d schemed to get with me?
Was I ready to diagnose this guy as a walking red flag
- for a gentle admission of interest?
Because he's a big, intimidating guy?
What are the small, social rituals
we’re allowed to use - to signal desire?
Sure, buying someone a drink at a bar
- but what else? It’s a Catch-22.
Must every comment face the court of
public opinion, verbal consent protocols,
uni regulations and the behavior authorities?
Should we ban serendipity and spontaneity too?
Monday morning came and I didn’t ask to change seats
I moved my pencil back - a little.
He actually could use a bit more room than me.
I smiled a little, asked him about his weekend,
there’s no use in being unfriendly.
His name is Jacques (Jack).
.
.
Songs for this:
So Sorry by Lola Young [E]
The Hardest Part by Olivia Dean
Last year I wrote of serendipity…how out of nowhere…in a snap
when we least expect it…life…can drop a blessing in our lap.
Yesterday was Milt’s memorial service…to our son Bryan he was a good friend.
Since the service was in Asheville, North Carolina…we could not attend.
The service began at 2:00 P.M. so to honor the friendship they had built
at 2:00 P.M. we stopped for a moment to remember…and say a prayer for Milt.
Everyone who knew Milt loved him…and since we both felt the same
as a lasting tribute to him we’re having a tree planted in his name.
We learned from Bryan who attended the service that Milt had always been drawn
to the teachings and the writings of the author Kahlil Gibran.
Skip ahead to last evening…I was tidying up the bookstore…making sure everything was neat
when a book flew off the shelf…and landed face down at my feet.
I had already finished tidying and all the customers had gone.
When I picked up the book and turned it over…
it was The Prophet…by Kahlil Gibran!
Skip farther ahead to this morning (I go in early to clean the store)
when I see this bookmark about trees lying in front of me on the floor.
I knew this bookmark wasn’t there when I closed the store last night….
and the moment that I saw it…I smiled at the sight.
I can only imagine Milt had a hand in this book and bookmark finding their way to me…
as a way of saying how he enjoyed Bryan’s friendship
and to say thank you for planting him a tree.
Oh! I bought the book and the bookmark…thinking they are divinely haunted..
and I’ll be handing them off to Bryan the next time we see him…
because I think that’s what Milt would have wanted.
So thank you Milt for a little serendipity…how you out of nowhere…in a snap
when I certainly wasn’t expecting it…you dropped two blessings in my lap.
Written: May 20, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Siren stunningly sprung a sanguine sway
sailboat sheaths spread, and storms swell
splendid summer shorelines spike
summertime spousal serenade swept
scrumptious, sturdy sibyllic sweeps
silky shorelines settle scrawls
seawater subtly scrubs sewage
skirr is a spectacular sand stronghold
sapphire specks spruce seaside sand
shoreline scoria is sharp
shipmates glide along a sleety seacoast
shivering seafarers' sight.
Straight skyline scaled saddlebow
sighting swallows spawned sibilance
stalls and slumps were scrutinized
strolling solysium soliloquy
stranding Schadenfreude
satisfied spectator
sarcasm serves as a solecism
slanting supplants a sempiternal scintilla
swirl across a snapped soul
supported standout slide
spiraling semantic spondaic species
sweeping synopsis syncope
start to sense surrealism
Sensual, sensuous, slim, and smiling
sits silently staring
sapphire sky sight
the sun casts scarlet shadows
slowly sinking silhouettes
scatter stars on skylines
Sunday sermon supply
searching souls
singing serenade.
Slides speckled sunshine
souvenirs spark strands of subdued shades
sequential surety swelling
strange, scarlet, silky songs
sway symphonic sylphic stardust
store sustained scrupulousness
silver surges spurred the space
snagging scents
step sibilant serendipity
stirred spectrum.