Long Unstructured Poems
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(Dedicated this writing to the merciful birthday of the greatest love of the earth Mevlânâ Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi. 30th September is the auspicious birthday of this ever greatest spiritual icon.)
My Death is My Wedding Night- RUMI
In the unstructured body of the rosy sky
the love river is flowing to assuage the frantic heart
the stars of the west show the dance of Sufi
where the souls of east are rejuvenated
You died before the earthly birth in the flute of love
where beloved gets rebirth to be enraptured
No stain on this ground soil, no sin the elopement is
where the thorns are rotten, the love is God
Who knew the ancient mystery of the love
where your all bookish knowledge were invalid
When the semen of your intoxicated devout wisdom
The master of soul offered you to birth lac of lovers
From that time still- the death of love is the wedding night
and the wedding night is the birth of eternal loving reunion
-01.10.2020 Chattogram
***
Note: -
Mevlânâ Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, (September 30, 1207, Balkh, Afghanistan - December 17, 1273, Konya, Turkey ) also known as Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Balkhi and more popularly simply as Rumi, was a 13th-century Persian poet, faqih, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic originally from Greater Khorasan in Greater Iran. The Masnavi, or Masnavi-ye-Ma'navi, also written Mathnawi, or Mathnavi, is an extensive poem written in Persian by him
While meditating earlier today,
a flashback leapt
clear for me to assay,
those ever receding
early boyhood daze,
now subsumed within fifty,
plus nine shades of gray
blissfully innocent naivety,
(though blessed) no way
would, aye desire to turn back
the hands of father time (hypothetically),
where unstructured play
regularly with older sister
(thirteen plus months
my senior) predominantly
slicing, sliding, and slipping
stockinged feet skittering
across slippery basement floor,
this then soul full
skinny thing bellowed hooray.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I'm Matty Mattel; I got hurt;
Can you go out?"
Those words uttered
by the very first
pull-string talking doll
Mattel did tout
circa nineteen sixty
revolutionizing the birth
of quasi simulated (lifelike) toys,
and made of common
materials found scout
ting around the house simply comprising
hard vinyl (i.e. pseudo
plaster of Paris) head he did flout
with remaining body
stuffed with padding,
a definite no
no (chew toy) when Fido about.
Actually that pooch,
would be Georgie to you,
(a hybrid Boxer Dalmatian)
with docked tail
my young parents acquired,
when as a newborn,
aye did inconsolably wail
though recollection of such memory
fifty nine years ago tis of no avail
yet, a resumption of meditation,
sans lightness of being
(analogous trancelike state),
that doth prevail
replaying silent film preceding,
when psyche seem so frail
plummeting into emotional abyss
the nadir i.e. anorexia nervosa
pleading return to nostalgic boyhood
decrying change hide didst bewail!
A vivid imagination
Build a castle in top of a tree
Pirates and jungle animals
Pink elephants and hungry crocodiles
Princesses and trolls
Floating paper boats,
huge ship sailing on the ocean
Bringing life to children's play
Without specific props,
free and unstructured
The result of natural curiosity
a fictional and incredible world
Fighting a dragon
among ivy in arches
Simple serving,
in the shade of the mulberry tree
Creates fascinating stories
A silk thread that sews a seam, pluck from the skies
Mud play, freshly baked chocolate cookies
Would you wish to taste the success?
Expands the palate's taste buds ... undoubtedly
Coming home with red apple cheeks
A healthy development and
precious childhood memories
Tired toddlers
- sleeps through the night
Remember them who lay in rows and
rows where poppies grow, and
enjoy this life because many died,
to make it so. Mother's weep for a
child no more, echoing canons can be
heard in the distance, and many have
bowed their heads to cry. Bring yourself
to silence at eleven in the morning. Ringing
out are bells, eleven times, and bagpipes
sounds drift in praise, and those who stand
with honour are set in stone. Now jets fly over
in an azure sky, thundering. Canada we stand
on guard for you! The Red and White Maple
Leaf Flag blows. Even in the going down of the
sun we will remember your precious blood.
Days have passed and pages have turned yet
we remember them, and now it is time for prayer
and quiet contemplation, yes, let us pray in this
hallowed place to honor the past and present.
Within my heart I see great-grandpa and grandpa
in black and white photographs, now give respect
to those whose names are etched on plagues and
stones in cemeteries, and remember those who came
back broken in their souls, nothing could help those
who took their own life due to memories horrible, and
on the grave of the unknown soldier we place our red
poppies, oh do not ever forget their great sacrifice so
we could live in sweet harmony, and now wreaths of
remembrance are being placed on the war monument.
Now, I place a wreath for the First Nation People as I
swell with pride for my ancestors who died in war.
"and the sound of pipes and drums drift along city streets"
______________________________
November 11, 2016
Poetry/Unstructured Prose Verse/Lest We Forget
Copyright Protected, ID 16-849-151-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FTI Blog Series 15 - November
Brian Strand
Podium Place1
A newly shaped poem is composed
Of themes both rare and common.
The poet’s thoughts, it is supposed
Will flow to paper without caution.
Of themes both rare and common-
Candid expressions, as pebbles upon the water hurled,
Will flow to paper without caution.
Unstructured elements mingled together in a whirl.
Candid expressions, like pebbles on the water hurled,
First ideas spill forth uncurbed.
Unstructured elements mingled together in a whirl
Wildly unreasonable, ludicrous, even absurd.
First ideas spill forth uncurbed
A tumult of hysteria, an outburst of facts and fantasy
Wildly unreasonable, ludicrous, even absurd,
Until (like magic) the figment’s purpose becomes reality.
A tumult of hysteria, an outburst of facts and fantasy,
The dreamer slows her crazed word play,
Until (like magic) the figment’s purpose becomes reality
And the poet’s whimsies an elemental form displays.
The dreamer slows her crazed word play.
The hard work now begins.
And the poet’s whimsies an elemental form displays,
Time to focus on imagery, sound, and rhythm.
The hard work now begins.
From the jumble, selected words must “pack a punch.”
Focus on imagery, sound, and rhythm,
Tone, diction, and structure -must consider much.
From the jumble, selected words must “pack a punch.”
A newly shaped poem is composed.
Tone, diction, and structure -must consider much.
Intentional placements- lines and phrases transposed.
It’s been an entertaining afternoon
Playing with a Pantoum
Michelle Waters
Nov. 27, 2023
AUDIO: Danse Macabre by Busy Strings.
Lint's Aura
Dignity gliding,
Resplendent in red was I,
Generous eyes felt,
Occurrences display me,
Stellar launched my existence.
Wardrobe visit hung,
Collection of new threads fills,
Close-knit paradigm,
Fussy fingers orbit me,
Small room phases a small box.
Reduced unstructured,
Yond pilfered vigor stills I,
Tattered wisps attend,
Cleavage currents my image,
Flew with the best ere sole flight.
2022 June 03
*7th Place*
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 June 06
*HMS: 5,7,5,7,7 syllables per x 3 stanzas
I’m a seashell.
No one inside, but spiraling patterns and maybe memories.
No one knows how to tangle with seaweed anymore.
Or how to live off slime.
I used to know these things.
Nothing works underwater.
Except fins and eyes.
No one knows how to survive ocean things.
Anything good about me…
Got washed away like something unstructured.
Living like slime so what does slime eat?
Disastrous.
I’m a seashell or something.
With nothing except horrible thoughts of cave divers.
I’m a seashell.
I’m beautiful and I used to be alive.
I’m still part of the sea this summer.
I certainly never heard of things.
Like summer, humans, or how to live a long life.
POETIC BIO
Alliteration,the starting place, alongside
cinquains,apace in time,crystalline
lanterne and rhyme came to be
Inspiration later drew forth
footle,broken monoku &emagi
&for a while
short imagist was my style.
Sequenced longer poems metamorphose
within this chrysallis
changing into ekphrasis.
Then Open,and organic free to be,
as you see,unstructured poetry.
With cadence and pause,
others began to hear my voice,
youtube became this poet’s choice.
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.
The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of inspiration
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a verse
"Heat Wave"
A new dawn fades
as the sun overtakes
the division in joy
the top layer
shiny and new
still and blue
calm and observing
underneath
the cover of morning
the firmament dissipates
like phoenix burning
sensual pleasures
sharp grooved
igniting loose ties
sacrificing cool
language dripping
like molten honey
over a body
a real piece
of work crucified
a deep story
just short of
6ft high
gone all
unstructured
and supine
dark Night
tightly holding court
with Excalibur
held high
like an offering
to Blue Sky
melting in a heatwave
renaissance rising
oceans turning
rolling rapture
the blood and water
eye for eye still scoring
not feathered
and tarred,
the never dead
very much alive
witness the walking
on watery nets
always close, never far
as in a mirror
the bright
and shining
Morning Star
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
duality.
A NOVEMBER POPPY
Names,familiar names that
now remain exposed,carved
in stone,a memorial to others'
shame.In their prime,cut off
a time,so brief,float down,my
sweet poppy leaf.
Once a face,smiling eyes,
lives with dreams vibrant as
day,faded now,untold in
someone's memory destined
to lie.Every name,there were
schooled,loved,laughed,and
cried,like we,walking this town,
exploring field and vale,each
unique,and an unfinished tale.
An unstructured prose verse dedicated to my grandfather and great uncle.
Listen to me recite this verse on youtube today under pen name ichthyschiro