Long The sun Poems
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Written: September 30, 2023
Sponsored by: Silent One Pick a Colour Contest
"There is my body, in it an ocean formed of his glory, all the creation, all the universes, all the galaxies, are lost in it. Rumi"
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In the scenic scope of a sparklingly stained sky.
Brushstrokes by a dulcet master, sky-high
An exhibit of azure splendor, a masterpiece.
Exquisite works of nature, why must you cease?
A cyanic cerulean, cavorting and courageous
Paints a tale that is both untold and tenacious.
Azure colors dance with genuine happiness.
All day long, hearts are captured by sappiness.
Wispy wetness, whitening whisper wreath.
With complete pride, wrap the sheath
Clouds of cotton candy wander nearby.
Adding elegance and grace to a sunny sky
A golden orb, the sun, sends a brilliant light.
Exudes a svelte and diaphanous gaze bright.
A radiance of soft light through the universe.
Fluttering formulaic fascination is fluminous.
Flowers fields in fabulous fonts of Forebay
Akin to a painter's palette, they thrive and sway.
Delicate petals, akin to brushstrokes fine,
Creating a tapestry is so divine.
The ocean waves have a turquoise hue.
Crash upon the shore, in shades of dew.
Symphony of mellifluous vibe, a rhythmic song,
As the creator elixir flows swiftly along,
Seagulls whiz by with wings wassail wide.
Their graceful flight was a sight to abide.
They elapse through the canvas with elegant ease.
Adding zest and zeal to an ephemeral breeze
As the day gyres to dusk, the sky transforms.
Brushstrokes of indigo chart various forms.
Mahogany and navy, fete the felicity of the scene.
Choreographing a fugacious, halcyon, and serene
Furtive stars twinkle, akin to gems so bright,
As the divine fulfills the tableau for the night,
Brushstrokes of cobalt in the glamor sky,
A marvelous feat that yields hearts to sigh.
The splendor of nature's marvels can't be denied.
A canvas filled with hues, so bright and defied
The creator is inconspicuous, yet his aura is felt.
It's clearly blatant in the cyan smudges knelt.
I climb the ladder of truth to dig into my youth, but there was nothing that I could find that could ruin my mind. I search the corridors of hope, trying to find the path that leads to the mound; it was clear as I could see that the lions were chasing after me. The road was long, but I took a short cut through the desert sand with a lantern in my hand. The sky almost touches the earth, and I could feel the history of mankind unravel in the ancient stone, and it was my youth that was carved out in those marbled stones. I could not deny that the heavens meet beneath the sky and as I stood on top of the mountain, I could hear the universe cry. It was like a balcony was floating in the sea and me and my partner was rocking with thee. We could not see anything around, but the ladder of truth tells you of the glory of your youth. We fought battles in the deep and we strangle mad men in our sleep, we win battles after battles and when our army touches the river Nile, we could hear the lion in the wilderness cry, and the spirit of the pharos would come to our aid and rescue us from the jail. The ladder of truth burns in the wilderness beneath the throne and tells the story of man’s journey to meet with the earth god that is wrapped up in the sun. They travel long-distance searching for the world that no one can find. They travel the globe searching for the truth; they climb the Alps and wander over mountains, sail across big oceans but the story is yet to be told of how mankind crosses his soul. Climb the ladder of truth and discover the joy of your youth; climb the ladder of truth and learn about your birth and how you were saved from the smoldering earth. Climb the ladder of truth and learn about the mountain of peace and how to absorb the heat. Pay attention to the details of life for your ancestors have made painful sacrifice. When your feet burn in the desert dust, courage is all that you can trust. I can hear the cries from the river Nile, they are the souls weeping in the afterlife, they are searching for their home, but they keep spinning around and around and the horse that reside beneath the sea emerge from the ground and pilot thee home.
The ladder of truth is buried in the epiphany of your youth
play only for the fun d;
ego will beg to be ‘the one’
pressures build to be the ‘sun’
be assured with a curly score
lepricons leap and say be more
Elements beeping deep at core
Art this is, where we’re to go
Mental road of a man made flow
Fun it is but it’s a bit slow
stale the taste if a mix is low
elixir
a texture of syntactical
pleasure… for sure.
it pleases me.
;p s
I don’t have a ‘coffer’either...
Smokin cup of coffee perhaps, yes…
First ... Be Naked.
.. and when they discovered that their shame had covered them...
their flesh was removed and they were naked, before themselves....
flesH <~
self
I am myself.
MYself
I sing...
HYM
With you...
OUR self
... we begin. hear.
Form:
Yonder hills
are covered with an array of flowers,
we may only see this once
when our eyes are neither closed nor open.
Those far trees are as green as the sea
when the sun is low in the water,
or perhaps
beneath the sea-green
they are
as multihued as any rainbow.
We perceive only
their imperfect reflections -
eyes deceive and the world
is upside down.
All mountains are aquamarine blue
whether covered in ice or not,
this we may want to be true
or deny,
yet truth is a glimpse into a window
that we first must open.
Unfortunately, we have long since
painted this world,
with a blind artists brush.
Vision comes
when the light of the mind
is brighter than that which is seen.
During the bloom of youth, in the spring of vitality,
Everything is sparkling and has a fresh, real quality.
Summer is the season of growth and rebirth in life,
Every day brings fresh dreams of conquering strife.
In the fall of life, it is time to slow back,
peace of mind and confidence—nothing we lack.
Autonomy and wisdom in winter arise,
It also soothes and reflects tears wiped by the eyes.
However, life continues beyond these seasons,
Each spirit is revived for the most sturdy reasons.
This is a calm fifth season and a bright first spring,
renewed, purified, and wearing a hedge ring.
If only the fifth season could be possible,
I am perplexed as to what this may be.
In the fifth season, would it be invisible?
Allowing a smile that you can see.
I do not require the new year to be happy,
For every post you write, I celebrate.
I do not lack gifts, as when the night is sappy,
since every word, you say is equally satiate.
Each of the four seasons is crammed into one,
A quantum season is a rush of momentum.
Alternatively, a bright or black hole in the sun,
What about the soul of your heart ramentum?
It was lauded in the fifth season above,
Breathe your last free sigh, since this is love.
The sky swirls up, and things are drawn in cursory,
It no longer observes its bereavement anniversary.
Can the brain be used to conceal this perspective?
Can time-beat insight and distance be effective?
Can faith that rises far above reason triumph?
Can love be a fifth season or a sly wood humph?
Written October 30, 2022
The Fifth Season Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Ecclesiastes 3:1 [King James Version of the Bible]
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the
heaven:
Prayer makes man human for in our innocence, we pray.
Knowing, that we're limited in sincerity; we seek.
Palm to palm, oft on our knees, childless, we of clay convey
the hope for healthy children to the Universe, we speak.
Our pairings blessed, our off-springs bloom, each yin seeks a yang.
Coupled moving forward walking hand and hand, yang calls to yin.
All we've known is but a part, a grain, falling from His hand;
adult children pray oft on their knees since, we are akin.
Around and round the cycle rolls in Universes untold
whether the parts know or seek the whole, still they grow, and go.
Yet, only the sentient pray and dream, eyes half open, behold
the Eternal wonder of creation, yet ... who knows, who knows?
Does the quark pray for a quark, does the sun pray for decay
does the Universe seek black holes? Who can say, who can say?
I was relaxing sitting in my sunroom,
and I was marveling at the sky
When I noticed stuck to my window screen
there was an interesting big old dragonfly
So, I gently and quietly opened up my window
in hopes that I could set him free
But he just stayed there with his wings at rest
and he hummed a verse to me
He hummed-
"I can see you there Mr. Human,
you're so thoughtful and you're so kind
But I would wish to watch the sunset, my friend
that is, of course, if you wouldn't mind"
So, I nodded and got a spoon of water
And I broke off a crumb of my tasty bread
Then I put it onto my clean white windowsill
just right before I had gone to bed
When I woke up early in the morning
The cute dragonfly had flown free
But beside the empty spoon of water...
there was a note, and it read-
"Thank you" ...to me!
The sincere note had made me smile
And the whole experience was pretty cool
Especially when I went for a dip
And found the dragonfly swimming in my pool
It swam onto a floating green leaf
and it flapped its wings in my direction
That's when I knew that it and I
We had some kind of friend connection!
Then I opened up my wet wrinkled hand
and my friend hopped onto my palm
and it sat there while a cloud passed by
And the water was still and calm
But when the sun was shining
And there was a rainbow in the sky
The dragonfly had flapped his wings
And it waved and hummed... "Good-bye"
J-une twelfth early morn,
O-ne night is taken away;
N-ew dawn has just broken,
A-fter the dark drifts into gray.
L-onely evening passes by,
Y-our birth brings much mirth;
N-ow is the time to enjoy the day you were born on earth.
M-orning starts to break,
A-s the sun begins to shine;
R-aindrops stop falling,
I-nclement clime turns fine.
K-ind weather stays the same,
I-n the wide blue sky;
T-wilight has disappeared, clouds don't gather up high.
M-idnight stars up above
A-re shining so bright;
G-ray shadows have faded
B-eneath the burning light.
U-nless the dusk is over,
H-aze and mist won't go away;
O-pen your eyes and see,
S-unlight of the new day.
The sun shimmers through branches
Lighting up the canopy floor
Where I peer up with blue eyes
Tinged with red I'm as high as the clouds
And my dreams are up there too
Slowly disappearing on a hot day
Sweat rolls down my forehead
And echoes fill up my mind
If only I could hit rewind and go back
When people cared if I lived
When I had friends who were there
When I thought I knew the love of my life
When 30 seemed so very far away
Now my days are sprinkled with sorrow
And I live in the realm of memories
In the mirror my face gets older
But I swear my heart gets younger
A child in a grown man's body
I was never prepared for this
But I strive every day to do my best
To eradicate the chains in my chest
Because she's looking down on me
I want to be what she always saw in me
But the days are getting shorter
And I feel like I'm running out of time
Laying here in the forest
Wondering when sunset will come
When that splash of colors
Will fade into a deep black
And my thoughts stop racing
And my heart stops beating
And these tears stop falling
And these memories stop haunting
And these lies stop spinning
I just want to close my eyes
And disappear despite my fear
There's no place left to go
But the empty abyss
An Atheist has no Heaven
So life was supposed to be my Heaven
O Wanderer of Distant Shores
Sojourner to horizons veiled in alien mist,
when you return on wings of weary exile,
will you still recall the twilight hymns
chorused by a thousand chirping tongues
beneath the ancient baobab’s patriarchal shade?
Will the legend of the great hunter yet blaze within your breast
he whose lion heart sent forest sprites fleeing into shadow,
who claimed the land’s most radiant virgin as his bride,
a crown of courage woven into nuptial fire?
When you return,
will the spectral fable of the wraith still haunt your marrow
that restless phantom which drove our forefathers from the furrowed earth
at the first blush of dusk,
their hoes abandoned like forgotten prayers?
Will your fingers still remember the sacred alchemy,
plunging deep into the indigo womb of Aro
to birth Àdìre patterns for our beloved mother
blue constellations blooming on cotton skies?
The marketplace yet thrums, a living hive of ancestral rhythm,
every market day as raw and rooted as the hour you departed.
Our women remain unviolated by the foreign gloss,
their laughter pure as river stones.
Our men, still wary sentinels, eye the glittering lies of city folk
with the same ancestral suspicion.
Our children wear their beauty without shame or veil,
offering it boldly to the sun and wind.
Yet the harrowing screams of our virgins still lacerate the velvet night
as they bleed beneath the mutilator’s blade
an ancient wound that time refuses to cauterize.
Will you still know the holy communion of Iyan
that silken mound of yam, pounded with the sacred sweat of maidens,
molded tenderly with Egusi in vessels of baked earth,
a feast born of labor, love, and loam?
When you return,
will your tongue not recoil from the velvet slime of Ila,
once mastered with such grace beside Amala’s dark, yielding earth?
The leaves of the whispering forest still guard our strength and virility,
their bitter elixirs weaving resilience through our blood,
though they have never promised salvation from every shadow of pain.
O sojourner,
when you return from that far dungeon of subjugation
that iron sepulchre which devoured our songs, our creeds, our gods
teach us not the hollow novelties of conquered lands.
Return instead with memory intact,
with heart uncolonized,
and lay your hands once more upon the warm, living clay of home.