Long Unwoven Poems
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His eyes are sapphire gems
Coloring my world in passion
Whispering dreams fulfilled
Endless mysteries unwoven
~
His breath is a spring breeze
Blowing through my thoughts
Beckoning with hues of hope
Echoing desire as a chance
~
His bare skin sighs with insight
Heavenly entreaty motioning
With a heart of joy and praise
Amazing me with such grace
~
His face is strong and my fingers
Trace the wisdom in his features
Following the lines that smile gently
Carrying me to heavenly realms
~
His embrace holds me close
Hugging me with a sense of awe
Yearning to give me tenderness
Sensing all that is so fulfilling within
~
His promises tell me I’m awaiting
Sure feelings that will always deny
Anything other than pure satisfaction
That comes with knowing real love
~
His presence makes me feel alive
With a fire that burns on the inside
Revealing the fervor felt with him
When I allow myself to melt within
~
His heart is a rare miracle sent down
By a heavenly Father who knew
I would need someone to be true
With feelings that I could be sure of
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW POETRY (1) any form any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Written and Posted on June 27, 2020
CONFIGURED AVATAR
Traversing the flushing meadow of life verdant
I uncovered a veiled pallet at the bottom of mind,
filled with mélange of colors luminous and vibrant,
waiting for the time when the painter it would find.
As the mist of spent night lifted from the horizon
a canvas I found in my heart unpainted so long.
Sunburst shining sky ushered the defining dawn,
descended on it with the impression so strong.
Through terrain of life sculpted in contours uneven
I’ll travel the painted path to the edge of the sky far.
The tapestry of ecstasy I won’t ever leave unwoven,
what the latent artist in me configured is my avatar.
January 29, 2019
one thread
unravels
quietly
from the cuff
of yesterday—
loose and golden,
tugged gently
by wind
or memory.
another thread,
silver-fine,
winds forward
into what might be
tomorrow,
still unwoven,
still soft with
silence.
time does not run;
it is stitched—
moment to moment,
strand to strand,
through every glance,
every breath,
every choice
you never realized
you were making.
there are knots:
places where two lives
touch and tighten.
places where
the pattern breaks,
frays, forgets itself—
and others
where it mends
with color.
the past is not gone;
it is threaded through you,
hidden in the seams
of your skin,
tucked in the hem
of your voice
when you say their name.
you walk wrapped
in stories
you don't remember telling,
stitched tight with the
hands of those
you never knew.
(and still,
somehow,
you knew them)
the threads twist—
through journals and old songs,
through maps and postcards,
through laughter echoed
across generations—
they pass through rings,
through cracked clocks,
through names etched
in notebooks
and photographs.
time does not move forward.
it weaves.
in loops and overlaps,
in tangles and designs
we can only see
when we stop
and trace
with wonder.
so pull a thread,
any thread—
and feel the hum
of centuries
beneath
your fingertips.
"Sanskrit"
Tears like pearls of wisdom
crystal diamonds slip salty cool
hour glass down cheeks to lips
purse of gold unzipped
forms exposed vowels and consonants
in the hostage pool
forming ebullient echo words
on moist glowing cupid’s bow
a ripe plumb kissed, then, juicy silence
words tightly bound
all thoughts and unnecessary sounds
cuffed, suspended
tongue licks locked lips
passing key portal bit
softly sparking electric tangent
speaks of sibilant semblance
sensation solitary succulent
seeking sensual sanguine silence
hands between pages
two legs of a chapter, verses read
scent of a journey
puzzles kept as secrets
a treat to be unwoven, deciphered
warm skinned, unknown, token
slippery lover's notes
fingers following the lines
along wet Sanskrit
heart of body
tantric
broached
free
never owned
hot wired
removed
yet responding;
conduit opening
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"I Like It" / Moby
https://youtu.be/TdXLNHWmurM
http://jayarava.blogspot.com/2013/02/emptiness-for-beginners.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Two_truths_doctrine
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart_Sutra
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tantra
THE MOON’S SECRET DIARY
I am intrigued by them,
the ones who call me the moon.
Who are they?
the inhabitants of my imaginative world?
or am I a part of theirs?
some eccentric children of the cosmos?
I watch the earth all the time,
she, the calm creature that sustains
the whimsical objects,
they, who are searching for the unsearchable.
they, who have never existed in harmony.
I find them amusing,
the ones who are unaware of their insignificance.
they, who do nothing but run behind the truth,
little do they know that they are an unwoven lie.
I remember what I said, are they
some eccentric children of the cosmos?
I asked the universe to be my valentine,
and we met in a blackhole for a tryst.
Are they your children? I asked
“No, they are my siblings.” she confessed.
Your light shines through this wattled heart of mine ...
It seeps through the cracks unwoven in a twine....
And though my soul is filled with thistles and thorns .....
The light you evoke is what my spirit mourns....
But like wilted roses and shattered dreams....
My heart dies in a land of scattered screams....
And at times its you that strings me like a laced up shoe...
And silence the madness with the things you do....
If love had a backbone you would be it....
And if strength had a nickname Ruby would be fit....
Its the thoughts of you why i hold my tongue ....
And abscond from feelings of joy to feeling totally numb....
Because it is you who protects me from the wolves at night....
Vociferous vixens with the intentions of spite....
To me you are more than mere flesh and bone....
You are my goddess i kneel at your throne....
My lion queen my vanilla bean i will always be your man....
143286 no one could ever understand....
As i paint the colors of love in the abattoir of your broken heart....
There's a personified reflection from you cascading to me like a painting in art....
So forever in my heart you will remain....
On a spill canvas more than just a stain
If I could roll my words in tightened balls
and throw them then, against the critiques walls
some might stick while all the others fall
like drunkards, stagger home after last call
to greet the rising sun with swollen eyes
scratch upon a napkin despair’s lies
folded in a pocket o’er my heart
the musings of a fool and midnight’s tart.
Oh God, this heaven, darker than its hell,
unwoven words their silence yet to tell
curse the day the scattered words were found
condemned by courts whose words were never bound.
And so I roll these words in tightened balls
and throw them still against the critiques walls.
©4/24/2018
submitted to – LATE APRIL STANDARD CONTEST
sponsor – Brian Strand
Muscularity slowly flexing with a calling permanency,
Permission without clicking that the doorstop’s gone,
Inherent hardiness springs you into moderation,
And the Castle’s protective rock scatters criminalisation bon.
Lighter shade of grey without looking aside,
Whilst the age’s statues beg for what’s in your mind,
Tidier than the rest, clean enough to prove inspection,
Of calamity there is no trace or distant recollection.
Roadways trade the fair, negotiating each time,
Dismissing treason and rejecting isolation’s stare,
Lights welcome you in even when prohibition wins,
Blackbirds dance a chatter about your grins.
Square set, known symmetry furnishes the town,
Derived from that castle rock, cool and the mound,
Your spider web is unwoven by the city’s calming sense,
And then glancing, you leave that web upon the fence.
Rude city by obviation, defences up, guarded centre,
Edinburgh Castle is the statue of liberty, our pride, an adulation,
Even though she signifies fierce battle with the English,
Our heritage is stillness, gritty integrity and tight courage.
To become independent would just be bliss,
And I must kiss this vigorous youth, this promise of prosperity,
First the Close’s, then from your garments on the back roads,
Now it’s time to cruise ablaze through the street lodes.
In the cathedral of time, where seconds drip like holy myrrh on the altar of eternity,
We stand, creatures of light draped in mantles of shadow and doubt,
With golden hands weaving the veil of reality, yet eyes covered by scales of ignorance,
While the Great Weaver watches silently from behind the cosmic curtain.
Our ship of destiny sails on the ocean of infinity, with sails made of unwoven dreams,
Blind helmsmen, crowned with thorns and wielding scepters of smoke, lead us to illusory horizons,
While deep in the hold, pearls of wisdom and diamonds of knowledge wait to be discovered,
Guarded by sirens of doubt and hydras of fear, fed by the tears of our lost hopes.
In the garden of souls, where trees of knowledge stretch their branches towards the sky of consciousness,
We dance a frenzied waltz with shadows of our own unfulfilled selves,
As angels with wax wings and demons with crystal hearts whisper the secrets of creation,
And we, blind and deaf, continue to weave the tapestry of destiny with threads of regret and nostalgia.
The full moon of enlightenment pours its silver light over the temple of humanity,
But the ignored priestesses of intuition and exiled prophets of vision stand in the shadows,
While on the altar, clay idols of mediocrity receive offerings of unfulfilled dreams,
And the smoke of our futile sacrifices rises to the indifferent sky of history.
Yet in the depths of the collective soul's cave, a sacred flame still flickers,
Fed by droplets of hope and the divine breath of our boundless potential,
For we are incarnate stars, carriers of the cosmic code in every cell,
Awaiting the sacred moment when we will pierce the veil of illusion and step into the light of eternal truth.
In the cosmic dance of creation, we are both dancers and music, both stage and audience,
Caught in a mystical hora of becoming, our steps measured by the heartbeat of the universe,
And one day, perhaps, we will remember the primordial song of our divine soul,
And weave anew the tapestry of reality, this time with threads of pure light and unconditional love.
Threads of Time Unwoven
In the weave of what was, a love like a storm,
We tangled our souls in a fierce, fleeting form,
Your curls in my grasp, like vines claiming the light,
Roads that we roamed under infinite night.
Coffees at dawn, whispers of faith in the steam,
Songs in our skin, wild seas in a dream.
We mirrored the divine, opposites true,
Known from the cradle of stars, me and you.
Yet storms carve the canyons where rivers run deep,
Breakups like thunder, the harvest we reap.
The ache is the seed, sown in sorrow's dark soil,
Pain as the plow, turning turmoil to toil.
We teased at the edges of God and the unseen,
Trusted the tide when the heart turned routine,
Now echoes remind us, what fit like a glove
Was lesson in losing, in pushing for love.
Wise heart, look forward, where fragments take flight,
The future a canvas, not chained to the night.
From this hollow, new blooms will unfurl in the spring,
Gardens of grace that the wild winds will bring.
You'll walk unalone, with the moon as your guide,
Conversations with self, where deep rivers abide.
What felt like an end was the spark of the dawn,
Love circles eternal, and you carry it on.
In time's gentle mercy, the opposites blend,
Your story a chapter, not fracture, but friend.
Rise to the horizon, with faith as your flame,
The whole of the heart whispers, you're worthy of claim.
@---->----