Long Upsurge Poems
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Soul’s innate creative urge,
causes in heart, an upsurge,
creating in space, a rhythm,
throbbing in mind-body prism.
Entwined with the universe,
our mind then conjures a verse,
which ego claims as its own,
although seeds are by soul sown.
Attuned to love’s vibration,
unique is each creation,
penning patterns on paper,
the way we like to caper.
The music’s not our handwork,
so we best wipe off our smirk,
but nevertheless since we’re here,
we let the fragrance draw near.
Just like petals in full bloom,
soul’s vibrance too likes to zoom,
which works for poets like us,
joyous aboard God’s bliss bus.
Hark
The captain spoke to the sick and starving
As he bobbled on the bow
And began
We will go there
Pointing his crooked finger as his dark, salty body dropped
But with each upsurge he made another point
You are here because you got lost
I'm here to take you home
Down surge
I'm not sure we will make it
Upsurge
But you have strong oars made of Spanish mahogany one at a time
Down surge
Some of you are weaker and will think of dying
Upsurge
Others will pick you up because you are worthy of love
Down surge
Your stomachs are full of toxic blubber meat
Upsurge
You will endure for the purpose of Her
hug at port, wet and tired and lost
Down surge
You will not endure if you are proud
Upsurge
Down surge
And just his eyes.
Only sounds of orphaned oars and flapping sails and rusty rudders.
Two whales appear, each pick a side.
Guiding, with twin wakes, and moving the boys toward there
Upsurge
Down surge
The whales were moving them there.
Screaming to their distant loved ones
I'll be home soon
The smoky rose burns bright in the embers of my soul
From paradise to earth the angels fall softly
Wrapping their wings around me
They keep me hanging on
They keep me hanging on
I see the colors of heaven dancing like doves
And I feel the love
It's like a flower in the dark
Whispers of lonesome breathes disappear
When the angels come near me,
I keep hanging on
I keep hanging on
Angels, they keep me hanging on
Until the rose has turned to fired embers
Without a sound she rises from the ashes
Of the past, alive reseeded
Re-magnetised,
I'm hanging on, cuz they never gonna leave me
The angels, they keep me hanging on
Forever.
Her petals never shall wilt again
They will upsurge in every peak of passion
For when the body dies, the love of the thriving remains
It keeps me hanging on
It keeps me hanging on
My heart wrings from the sheer honesty
Of her echoing choruses
I feel peace from the matchless aroma
Their wings are wafting me to sleep
I wish only to dream in her grip
To catch her transparent essence
Keep me hanging on
Keep me hanging on
With a strike of love
With a wick ever sustaining
And a flame ever burning
Downward to the dust,
Upward to the heavens
I will know that I am needed
I will know that I am real
--
This was a collaboration written with Mystic Rose
Inspired by the song Magnetised, by Tom Odell, and the picture above.
There I stood, quietly and still, with a frozen stare through my patio door. The awesome portrait of life, so dominating most of the year, has lost its
lure.This time, it’s not the forest that I behold, but it’s the sleeping trees that I see. All agree that much of life’s greenery has changed, rearranged, and
suffered pain.
In my backyard, there stands a fence laced and hidden in a fading sea of green. Gone is the luster of summer and the colors of fall, but the season is subtle and serene. Refusing to go unnoticed is a plant clustered with tiny blossoms of purple flowers. Bright and beaming yellow blossoms, undefeated and undisturbed, adorn a bush. The bush, filled with life on this January morn, blends cheerfully with nature’s orchestra.
The weather is gloomy and overcast, but no one bothered to tell my lovely backyard friends. A tree, showing no resemblance to its surroundings, is bare, stripped, and naked. She pleads for nothing and does not appear to be wounded, sick, or diseased.
The once green foliage of summer that turned brown last fall is now gone. Its umbrella of shade baring leaves is now a haven of rest for the birds. Come Spring, life will upsurge, and green leaves of shade will emerge.
But for now, the winter winds must blow and shake off all the leaves, and winter rains must fall while the full ensemble of life awaits the new season.
01302011; PostPS01162018, Contest, Mid Jan Premiere, Brian Strand
I write much hic cup ado
About nothing, which involuntary explosive release
comes clear out of the hic cup blue
nary a sponge bob square pants handy dandy bellows clue
where in tarnation this uncontrollable bout
jarring the body electric hic cup do
why such physiological spasmodic trembling whacky
baa closure of glottis hic cup ewe
moost likely find annoying as this hic cup ping buck feels few
breaths short of taking drastic action…
like hic cup swallowing glue
as an extreme solution per tha series
of being held hostage hoo
dee knee probably lacked escapist artist skills
even if he trundled to an igloo
to emergency room of a hospital or veterinarian
such hic cup caterwauling catering to gentile cat or Jew
lean, thus, time and again when said hic cup affliction
holds me hic cup ransom knew
does drive me towards acts of desperation
such as sticking ma head in the loo
which bizarre reaction on par with holding
out an appetite until famished for moo
Goo guy pan in mixed with a delicious bowl of new
dulls steeped in broth or an island delicacy renown on Oahu
even this atheist would ask for salivation praying a pew
whereby sound of silence echoed by hic cup right on queue
when nary a burble until reach that amen hic cup rue
stubbornly persists, no matter trying to suppression sue
per upsurge of diaphragm, a diabolical force forcing air thru
nasal passage and/or mouth oft times faintly resembling a u
ca lay lee with a snort accompanied no doubt by a voodoo
Practitioner…until…at last whew
hic cups stop as mysteriously as they started
bringing relief to this caged primate in a zoo.
bafflingly
bemusing
mind
&
mood
unwary
&
brazen bookie
secluded
sequestered
stouthearted
spluttered
calming
melody
in
woeful
wail
&
stormy
temper
quirky
upsurge
of
humdinger
&
humdrum
ancient
mysteries
slumber
in
depths
of
stillness
&
eternal light
blazing bright
beaming insight
beaconing delight
trance
in
abyss
but
waters curl
in
mercurial
cadence
&
unfathomable
ocean
a wave
streaming serenity
splendid sparking
sprouting spring
seedling
of
starlit serenade
surrounding hollow
in
wails
of
hazy aches
forlorn sighs
scattered
a wave
a verve
a swerve.
Written: January 22, 2023
Your Selection Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Heat conjured the atmosphere, conception began
Upsurge in pressures stirs water, birthing Nature’s Giants
Roaring sound with mixed helicopter-lion, ranting on the ocean
Ready to visit nearby lands, better prepare, don’t run!
Immersion is so strong, horrifying wind at 120 to 200 mphour
Can’t be controlled, God keep us safe if we stick to prayers
Apart not of our life, visitors of our nation several times a year
Nearest to coastal areas are more on danger and at risk.
Embrace reality, brace their atrocity but trust our Father Almighty
Safety is also yours on evacuation, don’t postpone my Dearie!
Sept.12, 2017 6.03am
Third Place
Contest: Hurricanes
Judged:9/12/2017
Sponsor: Poet Julie Rodeheaver
All thought egoic, manifest by desire
Beginning with an identity urge
To expand, identity thus conspires
Spiralling in grooves, of narrow thought surge
Feeling separate from source, we diverge
Hypnotic illusions, attention mires
The clear light of truth, then begins to blur
All thought egoic, manifest by desire
Blissful consciousness, was our state prior
Before our deluded ego upsurge
Spark becoming flame, now raging fire
Beginning with an identity urge
Ego thought fed, it begins to infer
Floundering about, reflections admires
Silencing resonance, own thought prefers
To expand, identity thus conspires
Thinking a gift divine, we did acquire
Boon then bane; ego delusion a scourge
Bewildering illusions, thus does sire
Spiralling in grooves, of narrow thought surge
Liberation at hand, when we do merge
Choosing resonation with hearts love choir
Our childlike presence then does re-emerge
Save the love vibration, nothing inspires
All thought egoic
14-January-2021
night's black
its soiled dresses
its greasy fingers
its weird chimpanzees
they all get reassured
at your open door
with the signs and symptoms
of the river shore
a lily restive
at the core
of the deep well
now swelling
out of the prison
for a morning burst
ah what an intense urge
the grassy upsurge
the open door
the signals to soar
casting aside
all ifs and buts
all locks and blocks
for the cluster of bees
smell of toasted bread
a stretched hand
melting the grey
unlocking from chairs and tables
blossoming tulips
singing flocks of swans
a stir in the wings of birds
a lark at the window pane
a star at the dancing dawn
an island of long necked cranes
the door leading to the flood
to the star-studded horses
in the toes and blood
walking the smooth wind
with the pencil fulfilling
a beginning
a short memory
There were and still are two airports on the flatland
outside of our town, therefore many German soldiers
where stationed here.
Since roads, and bridges had to be built and maintained
there was good employment for everyone and the payment
was good, but not much to spend the money on
a German military band playing loudly in the park, a cinema showing heroic soldiers saving cats
when not killing Russians, a couple of cafes selling what was called coffee, but made of roasted peas
It was left to people, to go to meeting at Christian sects and that was OK by the Norwegian Nazis who were the moral police at the time
Young Nazis joined a battalion called “Vikings” sent to fight the communist in Russia where most of them perished, those who made it back home, faced long
jail terms for treason.
After the war there was a great upsurge of people joining the communists, after all, the Russians had freed
northern Norway of the enemy, Russia bought our fish
and Soviet “workers” came, and told of how wonderful, the life of ordinary people was
my mother, a well-read woman, small of stature, but vociferous about her new faith organized, with her brother, town hall meetings, until illness struck, and she
was sent to a sanatorium up the mountain, the war had
taken its toll
she, when returning, was still a communist till Russia
invaded Hungary
in our working-class community, my mother cut an odd figure, had a lashing tongue
did not tolerate fools, and lesser people feared her but we who loved her could not scare us
we knew she had a soft heart