Long Untarnished Poems
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The luminous lucent mind of mine longingly mystique,
multi-facetted crystal clear piece of gorgeous gem,
shines sublimely with the perspicuity of thoughts,
glistened by the soul-suffusing sensuous rays,
the innate emanation of efflorescent emotions.
Clear of the cluttering cloud of surreptitious self-qualm,
the diaphanous psyche resolute in the ordained orbit,
stays shining as the stars of clarity shaping the galaxy
by fervent sequins in the transmuted lighted trajectory,
out of the ambiguous depth of my abysmal mental abyss.
The mesmeric meadow clear of complexity shadows,
glows in the petrified instants of condensed clarity,
latticed with the luster of lucid drops of diamond dew,
sparkling with the gorgeous glitter of pristine sunshine,
looks up to the seraphic sky of the untarnished dawn.
The gleaming pearls of ecstasy in the argentine night,
make the gossamer motif of stars in passion perception,
convey in convivial irradiance the unequivocal notion,
everything has a time to come and go,
like the ephemeral instants of effervescent elation.
Walking the desolate life on the still path of onyx wild
I set my eyes on the unmoving pole star.
Its motionless compass takes me to where you are,
I see the argentine starry shine in the iris of your eyes,
glistened by the emanation of efflorescent emotions.
We traverse the lucid trail we’ve built together,
the gleam of transparent twilight freezes on your face.
In the silver stillness of the crystal clear night
the moonbeams fasten our static moments
before they melt away in the immutable time.
A strange thing happened
when in a sudden spurt of morning sun
I looked fervently at
the slender blade of a wafting grass
sprouting on wayside spring pasture,
it instantly became a surge of beauty
that blew me away
to a new verdant world
I made of you.
From the dancing waves of emotive sea
the penchant surfs of my mind
draped you in aquamarine grace.
Entranced, I had a crush on you
and when you became mine
on enamored petals of blooming love
the patina of passion amplified,
remained untarnished in weathering winds,
even now in our twilight hours.
Written : April 25, 2019
Contest : Strand Pick A, Any Theme, Any Form
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The wonder of your smile is always there,
just like you gave me on that special day,
when first I saw you on my front porch stair-
your smile imprinted in my heart to stay.
Just as in spring and summer long ago,
and then in later years, your smile assured
my joy of knowing our love stayed aglow-
and now, past autumn years, have still endured.
The sparkle of your smile from first-love throes,
and blissful wedding day we said 'I do',
still lingers in my heart, although now shows
a special glaze from winter’s weathered hue.
The wonder of your smile- those early years,
that glowed with brilliance like untarnished gold-
became my treasured prize and now appears
with warm patina-sheen as we grow old.
Though years have flown and age has had its way-
your antique smile now etched with lines anew,
and lustered with the wear of each new day
brings priceless meaning to my love for you.
Time
Time, like age, just an ordered number, not ordained
Place marker in human chronicles of sunrise and sunset plains –
Book mark for seasons and blue moon tides
Flags the divisions between light and darkness
In twilight and dawning,
Powerless to stop Orion from appearing – the Southern Cross ascend,
Blocked from sneaking into infinity or the soul
At one with an eternal childhood escaping age,
No breaking in to steal the elliptical vitality of gifts
Or untarnished giftedness
Seen and begotten in full view before the abyss -
Locked out of the continuum of eternal light
Sun, moon and fiery orbs absent source of birthright
Beyond the vortex speed of light;
Soul living in the presence of the perfect circle -
No beginning and no end for grace -
Past the hands of manmade divisions circling on a numeral face
Not hearing rhythmic ticking rhythms – echoes lost in perpetuity –
Where time and seasons, blue moons only watch
Like forgotten keepsakes
Time, like age, just an ordered number, not ordained.
11-15-20
Contest: T Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The desiccated book feels lighter than I remember,
its leather cover softer,
the seventeenth century binding more fragile.
The inside cover reveals a name,
written with sharpened quill and calligraphic skill,
capital letters flaring in black ink.
To add my name would desecrate.
This can never be mine,
I'm just the steward for a generation.
In spite of Atlantic travel on wooden ship,
and long seasons of silence,
its content remains unweakened.
Aging pages bend with ease,
inviting eyes to sup and linger,
taste the unfamiliar,
Connect with someone never met,
bond to the one speaking
to an uncertain future.
His words make their impression,
influence feelings, change opinions,
affect another beyond the grave.
Although its body slowly tatters,
some pages soiled and torn,
the untarnished message awaits the next protector.
The world of Expectations
Expectations, do – in all likelihood – become frustrations.
They, in their painful anger, do become manipulations,
of both – both the aching heart and the fragile soul
and of the one’s you seem to want to know
and would prefer to show.
So, what one must do , is set them free, let them go
so that the seeds, one needs, in order to sow,
might have a chance – into something – grow.
Expectations, therefore laden the load, hamper creation,
making for uncertainties and difficulties in any situation.
WORDS
Words fly upon gossamer wings of invisible angles,
from sources of universal / internal, unseen energy,
to and through the fragile tips of my crystalline,
clear fingers, like specks of light, fireflies
out of the darkness of my mind, to light up,
- in shades of gray or rainbow colours, bright -
the empty spaces that wait to be filled.
Those pieces, - eight and a half by eleven – of paper,
pages I write, - for the sight of others – of shadows
that are cast upon the retinas of the minds that look,
upon, read, see, understand the essence of this old man.
Dawning of this day has come to us in untarnished,
Salvador Dalí, blues, chaperoned by a blinding glow
– that bright, life sustaining, golden orb radiating down –
giving light to this early mornings life, life in this tiny,
portion of this great blue planet – my multi coloured tomb,
my four cornered room, where loony size orbs , of violet,
indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red orbit, slither,
– in their cloak of rainbow colours – these coloured comets,
their tails streaking across, upon, all-around an ocean
of material objects, objects of historical value,
objects – a visual representations of , pages of my history
basking in the light of beautifully coloured flakes of rainbows,
drifting, rainbow specks, coloured splotches splashed across
the eggshell white bars of this prison I sometimes inhabit,
this tiny little universe washed in history and colours.
This beautifully coloured day was brought to me by crystals,
chipped at – pieces cut away by the hands of artisans –
by the hand of man to allow light – white and clear –
to be refracted, reflecting, releasing to sight, that which
the human eye is unable to comprehend, to see.
Rainbows filled my day – too bad they could not stay.
Then again, that would be asking to much, isn’t that the way ?
B. J. “A ” 2
October 27th 2002
"I filled the night's chalice with knots of desire..."
For you have set my untarnished heart on fire
"I learned how to live unkissed, until" we met
Now, we dance all night long, a romance duet
"The moon is an honest Manipulator"
Gives us away with its light, like a traitor
"It's raining roses and love riots" tonight
Together, we make an enviable sight
I'm the passionate pulse that beats in your veins
Wholly yours to explore, 'coz you hold my reins
The midnight stars groove to the rhythm of our souls
We are in a place where amour, us controls
Let's share our ardency with milky moonbeams
And with the sleeping world, our soft stardust dreams
Hands joined, lives intertwined, we will never part
For you and I, we live in each other's hearts...
Oh, yes, Darling! Please meet me up the street, in fifteen minutes, right past the old tan house with that porch, bamboo.
We need to talk about things, you and me, without your mean relatives, and that includes your cousin Ted Stew.
I’d gladly trade this car for a completely untarnished marriage certificate, cleaned out of the day-old flu.
But, fiance’, dearest, you have yet to show me your love nest, your side honey, or your super-secret tattoo,
So now that you realize I might cost you money, you love me forever, and think you can let go and forget the Queen of Vooody-Voo- Doo?
Sure, Sweet Darling. Being pre reasonable, I would certainly like to review our marriageable status, and begin trusting you anew.
Of course, we had better hurry, so we get this trust thing sorted, and my family decides to re-include you,
I do not think any love-you-forever ceremony, fancy hall, or wedding vows I will seriously pursue.
If you decide to take the challenge, there on the steps wearing their juiciest smiles, are my mother, Grandma Kell and cousin Lou.
Sure, they do all have guns, permits, frying pans, and razors. Confidentially, they’re in a hum dinger of a stew about you too.
What more can I do, Sugar Bear? I’ve led you right to them, right up these pretty blue and white steps, and frankly, honey, it’s the best thing I could ever do.
So saying, I guess all my relatives are ready to talk and slap and pinch and punch, and fight and scrap, and kick, because they’re sort of mad you made me so blue.
Bye, Sweetie. I’m off for the weekend with my new honey, Rick, a gentle, kind, God-fearing man, who doesn’t want to stick around to see what they’re going to do.
Her face tawny and weathered
Is richer than the earth of a thousand years
With flowing furrowed lines of contented history
That are written deeply at each union, worn like a scar
She lifts her native face to compose a melody of love
As a caged canary sings sweetly to all who pass and listen
The furled corners of her mouth are turned
Like the curve of leaves in spring when she speaks
She shares her gift of emanating smiles that beam
Softly as the sunrise on a foggy day
Under her yielding dimples of thankfulness
Her soulful song rises like a serendipitous sunrise
Resounding from her folkloric heart
Which flows with the blood from primitive waters
Wholesome and untarnished as she serenades
With the story of quiet truths that serve her so well
Her brow lifts arcing like rainbows after a warm rain
As laughter streams from eyes that reach to greet others
With untroubled humbleness and shyness
From the deep brown depth of their soulful well
While her simple, tiered and colorful skirt of cotton
Twirls round with the circular bliss of blossoming flowers
Capturing the playfulness of bright angel's dancing
Her strength and commitment are pure
For she chose the soul of man to carry with her
In the reed woven basket she made to keep her dreams
The work, toil and sweat of many generations
Rest heavy in her heart tilled by her tireless plow
She is the honey essence of all that is good and tender
She is loved by the elders, blessed by the children
For with each new day
She gives back what she has taken
With no risk of what she may lose
December 2, 2019
The Metaphor of Your Face Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
There are things
that memory keeps
and seals in a locket,
often gleaming
with an untarnished intensity
when opened and childhood
emerges, wide eyed
and ready
to catch the light.
Old minds push much
of childhood aside
and dismiss as fantasy
the fire and freeze that rage
across the wildlands
of little lives. Real life
comes later, they say.
Feelings burnt into the tissue
of a young child's brain
are just passing shadows
playing tricks to feign
a lasting permanence.
They'll soon get over it.
Yet, as you read, who
can't recall the flame
that burned in the heart when
it found its first love
in a class at primary school.
Tell me, that what swept
the mind back then was nothing
but a glancing crush or bruise
too shallow to last a week,
that the tears and love
that welled when the other
was near, never was real
but a childish deception. Tell me
the depths of so much feeling
was an invention,
a silly game, a virus caught
from a book and that childhood
can never bless the soul
with authentic love or scar it
with pain. Tell me
how it is that a face
can still be seen
and memory has not let go
of a name.