Long Strobes Poems
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Sit there, backs turned, Eyes Wired Shut, disconnected from your gut.
Thrusting back and thirsting forth, comes in the night.
Sniffing sleeping walking, head throbbing, bowels moving
To the rhythm of your heart pumping.
Silent mourning, red hot night but it’s not the knight that’s coming.
Pricked, poked and rubbed until the shameful betrayal and physical frenzy.
Frozen by the red hot burn of white stuff erupting.
Backs turned, eyes wired shut, disconnected from your gut.
Speech strangled, sore to swallow, why don’t you wonder what my mouth has seen.
Screaming pain going nowhere. Signs of agony everywhere.
Shaking hands, spirit shattered, will never find a piece again.
Please perhaps ponder?
Eyes wired shut, disconnected from your gut.
Ghosts hanging in your face. Held up by four, skin cold, cut down too late.
Trophies counted six feet under.
Disconnected from your gut.
Stench of innocence, reeks of guilt, but those around him bathe him well.
Slithered split tongues sitting on that slashing seesaw-like swords through butter, and with whispers like back stabbing knives.
Feeds and kneads their fallacies to grow in girth, fed by terror sucked from bodies with no hair, say no, no say.
Mouth wired shut.
Smoking tempers drinking frothy ice cold mixers. Open scabs festering under strobes.
Treading softly fearing toes, balancing on breakable shells. It’s no choice for those who know.
Your gut.
Reunion highs and lows. Don’t cry. Go.
Form:
In the Shadow of Sunlight
It is one of those glaringly bright days that
make your eyes water painfully.
You can't see everything at once but in short glimpses and peeks. Between blinks, half an image forms, blurry around the edges.
You raise your hand as a shield, squint, lean back and tuck your chin, grimacing.
You thought you heard her say your name.
Searching in stuttering snatches,
Looking in limping lunges…
like a slow motion film in staccato strobes.
She begins far away but ends close, so close that her form blocks you from the light and you see her as the shadow of sunlight. She is glowing around the edges like a phantom.
She is smiling into your eyes for a moment.
The relief of sight, of cool darkness, and then gone in a flash of brilliance once again. Balking, you ask her to wait! Wait just a second! Why do your ears depend so much on your eyes? She speaks but without seeing her mouth forming words you're unsure of what she's said…dissipating as she goes anyway until only a whisper.
“I love you darling…”
And that's when I wake up and remember she is gone. Gone for just over 20 years now. An ache in my stomach and tears prick my sleep swollen eyes. I turn to my side and tuck my hand under the pillow…try to get back to my dream.
Sometimes it is the light that blinds us to the truth and darkness that soothes the burn.
God is a sphere, aflame with love and light
and we affirm this since we have so seen,
bringing back to form, strobes of bliss delight,
sprinkling on our aura, His lustrous sheen.
Wonderful was immersion of our soul
in His glowing heart, held in warm embrace,
enabling us to feel complete and whole,
being of course, benediction of grace.
Barren is awareness bereft of love,
which we may imbibe, if our heart be pure,
whence magnetic light pours in from above,
that poised in peace life’s trials we endure.
Behold oh hermit, love and light of God,
breath by breath ingrained in mind-body pod.
minus thoughts, our ego recedes
we’re pure awareness, self-aware
in the void, we lay our soul bare
we shift to heart, where God’s love breeds
delight as pheromones mingle
making eye of our mind single
bliss magnetism, feeble form feeds
look at it as kundalini
or simply call it the genie
God is He, who does all the deeds
we are a humble receptor
bliss strobes pierce each body vector
‘come home’, God says, ‘for My heart bleeds’
‘all I ask is, please make heart pure’
‘for every conflict, love’s the cure’
minus thoughts, our ego recedes
we shift to heart, where God’s love breeds
bliss magnetism, feeble form feeds
God is He, who does all the deeds
‘come home’, God says, ‘for My heart bleeds’
I breathe bliss, borne by divine magnetism
and as is with me, the same is with you
but due to head-heart chasm in body prism,
these sublime mists are felt by but a few.
I stand erect, as a pillar of light
and as is with me, the same is with you
but to cognise this needs spherical sight,
allowing bliss ignition to renew.
I, as in my ego have disappeared
and as with me, the same can be with you,
in time stretched stillness, whence by bliss strobes speared,
soul’s transfixed in love and light, each hue new.
God dwells at my very core and yours too ~
He’s seen when heart is pure like morning dew
I have a memory-
of going with father to see fireworks
we brought folding chairs and warm blankets
it is a magical recollection
the neighbours gathered with anticipation
it
began
with whistles and flickers flashes and snaps
a continual assault of pretty colors falling
clusters of lights moving
and dissipating
strobes flashes bangs cascading waterfalls
glittering
trailing
projectiles and sometimes quiet glitter
father held my hand
stars hanging in the night sky and drifting slowly
down and then spheres of stars glowing
oh
it is truly
a wonderful memory-
_______________________________
June 7, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/The Firework Display
Copyright Protected, ID 16-798-185-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Fireworks For Me
sponsor, Julia Ward
First Place
The instrument of mind conjures a verse,
based on a rhythm that rises from the heart,
so whilst it can perform better or worse,
each symbol portrayed is a work of art.
Polarised strobes of light communicate
in this earth realm by employing the word,
medium dual, so who knows the fate
of the fragrance emitted when heart stirred?
Yet be this as it may, our souls will sing
songs of love and longing, although we know
that thoughts penned on paper are not the thing
heart wished to emote about our soul’s glow.
Save in tranquil silence, how may we learn,
God’s boons bestowed by love’s benign bliss burn?
With ego donned, soul's edge now rough,
discernment as the tool employed,
tranquil at both life's crest and trough,
sees demons of darkness destroyed.
Refinement is a slow process,
laboured breathing, fear forms sieving,
where we both regress and progress,
strobes of God's light, in heart weaving.
Caress of love divine sublime,
transforms feeble form from within,
bliss beat chime aiding soul to climb,
exhuming all traces of sin.
Sin's sea glass littered on soul's shore,
holds value although it is waste,
for though we choose to keep no score,
it marks the path that made heart chaste.
Into the white room
With folded time
Worn into the sublime
Watching the figure standing
Here standing there
In the corner
Where the shadows bare
Where things dare
Watching the passing of a life
In the strobes of one's afterlife
The flickers of memory
The moments of history
The monuments of
The stuff that transcends
The essence of a void
What is made of
What was imagined
In the white room, the floor is bare
Nothing left there only two moments
Taken like photographs
Can I of the soul see the ramifications
In the seconds that are folded and worn
Like photographs on the dead fireplace
The white room is getting cold
The procession has come, old
The procession left nothing to bare
The passing of nothing
Something rare
There on the floor, bare
I see a shadow roaming uncertain
Where time is warned bare
In a white room with black curtains
an ode to stones
Word Calibration in G Major
‘Don’t worry honey.
No one walks this way.
At least, not at this hour.’
The neons inside the dark house,
Across the street over there,
Are aglow with ghostly shadows,
Flickering like strobes in slow motion.
Just our car parked here now, and
No one is around. Nothing
Except Dream faeries dressed as opossums.
We are alone at last, and
It is time to touch firm bodies together.
It is time to be alive once again.
Your top two buttons are unfastened, I see.
Shh, be still as I unbutton the bottom two;
My left hand knows where to go;
I will now kiss and caress your soft perfumed neck,
As my searching fingers follow their bead.
‘Shh, what’s that sound?’
Loud voices coming this way,
Formless voices strolling by on parade;
‘Shh, duck down and don’t make a sound,’
As we continue to kiss and lick excited flesh,
Embracing in silent sweat,
Ensconced under a flaming white blanket,
Inside a lavender blue ’72 Land Yacht.
There is a moonless sky outside, and
A creeping fog beginning to settle in.
‘Ahh, I see that you are cold, honey.
Here is my hat,
Cover yourself.’