Long Take shape Poems
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Heart filled with happiness, eyes much merry; cheeks color strawberry,
just running through fields of ripe huckleberry,
keeping away from the buzzing, restless bees...
going to a from their sweet hives hanging from massive apple trees.
More than childhood memories, such are these...
a reflection of youth that removes them from nostalgia; husky peasants
shaking off the husks from the golden corn;
a tasty, hot corn meal for those winter's dinners drooling on my tongue.
And approaching a torrent, I threw pebbles found on its almost barren banks
back into the spattering water that I drank sporadically until I was full,
to indulge in its freshness...squashing tiny daisies
that seemed too afraid to squabble with a giant and fight for their survival.
The southern landscape with its mild climate, was rich and fragrant,
inviting hands to pluck the delicious, tempting fruits
off their branches, scattering the thrushes engaged in musical tones;
and I tongue-tied hurried along cogitating an instant.
Would it be too childish to ask for a come-back,
to relive the cheerfulness of the oldest days, ceased by time and age;
to observe a reflection of youth take shape...
and embed, in a secret, a conversation regardless of present knowledge?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
You walk among the shadows
To keep your life from view
You live just on the sidelines
The game it's not or you
You live in the mundane
With a life where nothings new
Seems each day is just the same
But this is not the life for you
You need to start a living
A life that has some risk
You need to make decisions
That will bring you from the mist
There needs to be some challenges
That start a life anew
Things that you have never done
But things you want to do
Now start to walk into the light
That once caused you to fear
The things that you'll be doing now
Will be the things that you'll hold dear
A step of faith is all you'll need
To start this life long trip
The goals that you'll achieve
Will be the holds that you will grip
Now don't delay to take this trip
Because your life will then take shape
The road may have some bumps along the way
Remember though your life is what's at stake
All my life I have been music, a silent symphony floating through time,
not the kind of melody that encourages dancing under the starlight,
but the kind of music that fills your soul when you're alone and tears fall,
without knowing why, like an unseen spring carving its path through rocks.
Few have listened, and even fewer stayed to catch the echo of the refrain,
most changed the frequency before the story could take shape.
I tried to become light, a candle dancing in the wind of memories,
brave, flickering, giving warmth I never kept for myself.
I met people who mistook my soul for a temporary refuge,
leaving when the silence became too loud for them,
some say I was a broken heart, a lesson in someone else's story,
and maybe I regret it, but how can you regret being an ocean too deep
for those who were only looking for a quiet stream?
My mind—never silent, moves like thunder in a storm,
across the sky of my skull, thoughts crashing like lightning,
fast, blinding, disappearing before I can truly understand them.
Even in sleep, I am not at peace, even in calm, I await the storm,
there is a sadness that doesn't cut deep but flows slowly like endless rain,
so gentle that you barely notice you're drowning slowly, without noise,
and yet, I sing, perhaps not for the world, perhaps not to be heard,
but because silence is the one thing that frightens me more
than being misunderstood, and it's strange how silence understands my soul
more than anyone ever could, like a shadow embracing the light.
He’s in plain sight; He does not hide
to those who simply open wide
their eyes, their minds to what is plain:
the ordinary and mundane.
Though some will look, they will not find
the caricature that fills their mind,
the god they’ve shelved inside a box,
and therein lies the paradox:
to glimpse their god, they’ve made him small,
and thus, they see no god at all.
Their certainty at what he’ll do,
activities he would eschew,
forms cataracts or opaque scales;
the search to find him utter fails.
But there, amidst our deepest grief,
where pain devours without relief,
or filled with wonder like a child,
when logic can’t be reconciled,
when order's where it should not be,
or forms take shape exquisitely,
or colors pleasing to the eye,
or minds that ponder how and why,
'tis there He’s been, and all along,
a presence near and oh so strong
in all we think, and all we do.
You cannot hide; He’s there with you.
----------
for the Where Is God Hiding Poetry Contest
sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
written on 08/24/22
Not gold or gem, but knowledge true,
A hidden spark, just waiting for you.
Through dusty pages, paths we pave,
Each step is a question, wisdom we crave.
Like buds unfurling, we take flight,
Learning's sun, a wondrous light.
Thoughts take shape, like sculptor's art,
Ignorance left, lost to the heart.
Old tales whisper wisdom sings,
Of heroes brave, and hidden things.
A torch against the darkest night,
Learning's flame, where dreams take flight.
Forget the sweets that melt away,
Learning's feast, a bounty to stay.
With wisdom's eye, we find our way,
Dreams take root, where purpose plays.
A wealth within, no fire can touch,
No thief can steal, it loves us much.
In every book, a treasure lies,
Each page is a path, to open skies.
So raise a smile, to learning's call,
Drink deep it well, and stand up tall.
In knowledge's arms, our spirits rise,
A love that blooms, beneath wise skies.
Unending strip of ebony darkness
lying lost unseen under moonless black sky
it’s beginning and end upon the land
lost in black shadows cannot be seen
deeper darkness moves within
flowing smooth curves barely half seen
eerily growing closer to me
silently without sound in the dark
a soft whisper of treads on road
barely heard whispering near
dark black form take shape near me
rushing quickly by only half seen
in dim orange glow I can see
auburn curls flowing so long
casting color on purists white curves
slipping quickly by into black night
with silent sound rushing by
soft breeze of air rustles me
soft scent of jasmine and rose hardly there
quickly fades into dark night
lost from sight so quickly gone
soft curves of blackness fade in the night
without a sound slips away
stirring darkness sliding away
With my solution upon my parchment bright
I conjure worlds where imagination takes flight
The ink flows free, a wondrous, winding stream
As letters spin forth, fabricating words unseen
A tapestry of meaning, rich and vibrant, is gleaned
The poet's craft, a magic, all its own, is spun
Within the story, rhythm and rhyme find its time
A symphony of language, a harmony sublime
The words come alive, a dance, a sweet, sweet crime
In this realm of fantasy, I find my peace
Where words are woven, a cloak, a gentle release
From the mundane, I escape, and find my release
The quill whispers secrets, of a world untold
A realm of wonder, where the heart doth unfold
A place where dreams are born, and magic is told
In the silence, I hear the words take shape
A whispered promise, of a tale to create
A world of wonder, where the heart doth await
The parchment whispers back, with a gentle sigh
As the words take form, and the story comes alive
A dance of language, a wondrous, winding flight
In this world of words, I find my heart's desire
A place where imagination, doth set the fire
A flame that burns bright, a beacon in the night
The quill and parchment, a wondrous, mystic pair
A partnership of magic, beyond compare
Together they weave, a tale beyond the air
In the realm of poetry, I find my home
Where words are woven, a tapestry, all my own
A place where heart and soul, are forever sown
The whispers of the quill, a gentle, guiding hand
That leads me through the realms, of this wondrous land
A place where magic dwells, and poetry stands.
O, elusive muse, mysterious and profound bruise,
you bewitch my soul, never to be found in the way of former use.
In your absence, I am left with bittersweet
caramello pain,
forever longing for your ephemeral archery reigns,
to stick your finger in and frost your tips, lips, hips.
With every plié, a heart skips a beat,
as feelings pirouette upon your rage
and bloodlust and cage.
Each soft tendu, a love story paged,
imbued with passion's fire, never to age.
But doth wrinkle rings around my heart like a chain,
loosely at first.
Then comes your tools of torture,
your sandblaster-twirls deoxyribonucleiy
amidst a dreamscape host given wage,
unfurls, serpentor,
hyour body, an instrument
for efficacies' grand gauge.
Through leaps and bounds, love's whispers
take shape, like an hourglass shaken
to be thrown to the Leviathan sea.
Given over to the carcinogenie of winds,
carrying own lamp of photosins seeding plans.
Your occulant lids, occupancy Inn
unfolding a tale stolen from Wonderland
with narrator mouth agape.
Like a hellmouth opened revealing iron rows
of oscillator teeth, of to then throe.
I know there is no escape, but surrenders
oasiatic retreat of blue snows.
From your sire nyour cover of cape.
Spellbinding me to the elements
like salt in the wound to taste and one to grow.
O, ballerina of love, your steps mesmerize,
evoking metamorphic fertiles,
lilypad touchstone monads of diodes and control pads and padded rooms of the matrixed "mad",
making us crystals of your rites,
constellate consulates of your Medusaic petrify,
metamorphed from pieces of coal-
fitted for pressure, heat of becoming
from your diamond bit drill.
But beneath the surface of t h i s-
frozen-heartless veneer,
y o u r c a r o m i n g d a r k n e s s
come to take me away-
lies a fire, a longing, a blaze yet unquenched
Ignited by the spark of hope,
a steal cable between your wench
the yearning for warmth
worked by passion match.
There eyes an unaided flicker,
Me, the Wicker-man
struggling against your vice grip,
your tangle of betrathed lisp.
I am tied by your poetry,
your visa drip, feminine W I C C A - Beltane slip
of slip.
A bridge too far,
of golden vistas burning,
now, there is no return.
For me, only to find your drowning sea or burn.
See truth make sense
Live present tense
Work with plain words
Let tale be heard
When you look back
See acts of fact
Time and space move
In active grooves
Years pass so fast
To first and last
No need to hide
In empty pride
Learn to live well
So age can tell
Peace funds pure joy
As work employs
Soon you can see
Fond memories
Start to jot down
Sage, fool and clown
Record your tracks
As memoir stacks
Start poignant lines
Write what feels fine
Laugh and have fun
With story puns
Let form take shape
Sculpt man that apes
Leon Enriquez
28 September 2014
Singapore
INT. SCENE 1 – THE AWAKENING – DAY
FADE IN:
It was born in a test tube,
Twitching organic mass, form skewed.
They fed it chaos and it grew.
More tests ordered. More data due.
They poked it daily for a phase,
Kept in an incubator daze.
Mesmerising to watch,
This new form scared of touch.
It was secret, shrouded in myth.
No regret subverting parental shift.
They caged it for safety,
They said.
It would rage, unsure of identity.
It bled.
But did it feel pain? Skins shed.
The question kept being asked.
They poked again—curiosity unmasked.
-
EXT. SCENE 2 – THE ESCAPE – NIGHT
The compound was a proud facility,
A bastion of societal stability.
But they had no idea what they had.
They didn’t know it was sad,
Or how that rage would come in waves—
Bursts of fury none could brave.
Of course it escaped.
It saw trees, tried their shape.
Standing gave no thrill,
So it moved on with sentient will.
No longer content to mimic or mirror—
Its form turned strange, its outline unclear.
INSERT: NEWSCAST AUDIO
“Smelly blob terrorizes locals—”
It became the talk of social vocals.
It smells, it looks forlorn.
It better behave or be clearly gone.
Edges undefined,
Obscure and growing all the time.
Tentacles and warped limbs,
A head that could be a stomach—or wing.
A sight to shake your footing if you dared to look up.
It reached the city, tore buildings down.
Huge now, destruction for a crown.
It stomped, it thrashed, toward the centre bound.
And the scholars in their coats
Poked again—
It hollered, several guttural throats.
-
EXT. SCENE 3 – THE BATTLE – DAY
They didn’t know what it was—so they tried to destroy it.
It ran amok. We can’t employ it.
We can’t live with what we can’t control.
We mustn’t underestimate our role.
Kill the beast.
Then—it spoke.
CAMERA PANS IN – THE MONSTER SPEAKS
I’m ill-formed.
You brought me here, gave me these tools.
I don’t know what I am either,
But I’m trying to find where I belong.
To roam, to take shape.
I want your help—
But I won’t get it.
In the tube, I felt defined.
Out here, misplaced.
Scared and angry feel the same.
If I must be killed,
Aim for the head—
But tell me first…
Where that is.
FADE OUT: sirens stop, dust settles, silence.