Long Whirlpools Poems
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Stream gushes on
The rocky terrain
My boat plunges
In the whirlpools’
Spiralling anguish
Attrition perpetuates, time to get on the sail
The savior winsome winds of uplifting solace
Sanctum of stratified darkness freezes within
Time to paint patina of joy on petals of hope
The sky crumbles
On sands of time
Hues of rainbow
Rapture dissolve
I drown in the sea
Of boundless bliss
Enlightened I find
The oneness divine
Illumined between
The supreme & me
_______________
September 23, 2021
Contest : Crossroads
Sponsor : Kim Rodrigues
For Brian Strand's Contest A Strand (1049)
When, on that craggy moorland verge,
you make your stand, body braced
against the storms bullying bite;
when you permit the squall
to sweep your soul awake
attending only to the winds voice,
its howling funnel
forged in whirlpools of chaos,
then you will sense that thin thread
that holds you to this momentary life.
If then you suffer the stabbing rain
to corkscrew your mind,
allow the gust-mobbed gale
to expose each molecule of fear
you thought you had banished;
just being there within that mauling,
a hub in the dynamo
of an endlessly turning,
then your breath
will be one with the breathing sky.
If you remain there
all of you that is unrooted
must sink or rise, and if you dare
to grasp that howling by its throat
you will deliver yourself
to the deep dale or the soaring sky
newmade,
as transpicuous as daylight,
your spirit magnified
in the pristine eye of God.
I tumbled beautifully through the air
Pirouetting in this downward spiral
Knowing I had a target to land on
Instinct and premonition were my guides
The warm embrace of my perfect memories weren't there to catch me as I'd hoped
Instead, I plunged headfirst into a warm pool
Simultaneously, I felt happy and scared
So warm, yet shivering
I twisted around to take it in
And there you were
You belonged to someone else
The person I called my closest friend
But you weren't satisfied
And all three of us knew it
Smiling underwater, you reached your hand out
Whirlpools opened around us as I took your hand
It was odd, but I knew it was right
After all, I'd done something like this before
His chains were cut and I carried them instead
My instinct was to cut them again and run
Yet every chance I had, I avoided
The chains vanished, yet I remained
The trials and troubles never mattered
Somehow, it always worked
The ocean we traversed turned ever warmer
As we grew ever closer
When I was a broken man
You were there for me
And you put my heart
Right where it belongs.
There are women who ignite the desire to conquer and enjoy their beauty,
But she envelops you with a mystery that urges you to slowly lose yourself under her deep gaze,
Her eyes are whirlpools that draw you into an abyss where time stops like a forgotten dream,
It is not a mere call of the senses, but a painting in shades of melancholy and longing,
Her gaze is an old song, a story told by stars in nights of light and darkness,
Under her spell, you feel like a leaf carried by the wind, a soul unraveling in silk,
It is not the desire to conquer her, but a slow dance of souls meeting without words,
In that moment, you feel embraced by a sweet and eternal tranquility, like a warm wave,
In her presence, you are nothing but a wanderer wishing to lose himself in her endless beauty.
light penetrated dark, sound birthed
the Word ~ p o e t r y
a superlative emitting that which changes
emerging when ripened as verse
speaking to people faraway
unlocking alphabets from minds
to glide, fast fly, jump or slowly crawl, landing
at destined places, swords or aces
I am Poetry ~ weep or whimper not for me
existentially dancing, enthralling, glancing at
blank paper to be embroidered in ink
ruby red, black or olive green
free flow I from fingers fragile, artistic or sturdy
regulate me only for joy or exploring expansion
perhaps for judicious judgement
I, P o e t r y ~ sequins of Love convoluted or rayed, in service
purifying emotive sentiments conditioned, romantic, missioned
Heart is my home where rest my letters, forms
cadences, couplets, epics
in non-bewildered intelligence visioning dreamscapes
divine, liberated from bandages, buckles, bondages
alive is my Supersoul breath giving voice to electrons
protons, neutrons which fleetingly capture
essenced life through observed elixirs
as Poetry, I witness action followed by pure
stillness ~ transcendental whirlpools in orbits
my limbs reach language lyrical or plain
burnished and wise
cherishing recitals in sacred spaces
I activate thoughts and visions remaining
supremely unattached attuning words
for Grace ~
undulate imagination in perfect waves
misty, clear or intricate, intriguing, unblemished
gratifying, swivelling, sizzling in my own
fire or ice
I, Poetry, consummated
voice the W o r d
although revenge is said to be sour in the stomach
but sweet to the mouth and that is why it doesn’t matter
what happens afterward,
the old fool sharpens the dagger
to take revenge on those who made his life miserable
in the unquenchable flames of long harboring grudges
the shadow of the old fool squats down between a heaps of
useless settings that once have delighted the audiences
with added splendid sceneries to the stage,
moves back and forth gruesomely to sharpen the dagger
on the magnificent stage
the resentful performers’ spirits such as an actress
who was stoned to death because of jealousy,
an actor stabbed to death by a dagger of conspiracy,
a woman strangled to death under licentious taleteller’s tongue,
a man ran over by a carriage on the wheels of evil desire,
one who took his own life
after long and repetitious sleepless nights’ agonies
on the death of another that caused his misconception,
and many other leading and villain players’ victimized souls
come and go as if a gruesome Grim Reaper waited to see them
and snatch another from the stage
the old fool
surrounded by such sorrowful mistreated spirits
stares at the sharp edged knife with a bloodthirsty look
picturing the faces that must die under this dagger,
imaging the day of shaking the victims’ blood off from it
with complacent smile of satisfaction on his waning face
nonetheless, the face reflected on the blade was
no one else’s but his own careworn image,
the weather-beaten old man who went through a long life’s whirlpools
the old fool is
surrounded by the spirits
those of the falsely accused, mistreated,
and agonizing dead on the stage,
sharpening the dagger wet with his own tear drops on the stone
Water filled each cleft and crevice; unease within you grew.
Though physically brave, I couldn't withstand the strong wave.
I felt, yet, in the end, contentment with saving a few
No lifebuoys left; am I pushed to the brink of my grave?
This sea, though I'm within her waves now, isn't my stranger.
Hadn't I spent my mammoth life on her thrill-bubbling shores?
Won't she, at these troubled times, save me from every danger?
Though once she smashed my sand forts, will she wreck my heart's cores?
Isn't my death, yet, shifting from one shore to another?
Isn't plunging into the whirlpools part of this process?
Though those whose hands I held to save their own lives don't bother
Towards a valorous voyage, may my sound soul progress.
Farewell, O Titanic; you'd been sheltering me for long.
Leave me now; that I reach the divine shrines where I belong.
Betrothed,
Please don't come to the college campus
In a rosy costume like a blooming red rose,
I feel bad.
Don't move on the corridors with your swan walks
Being surrounded by your friends
Like a Moghul princess, I feel bad.
Betrothed,
Forming whirlpools in your blush red cheek
Nodding red jaw and sharp tongue
Waving snow white slim hands
Please don't tiptoe on the yard
Like strings playing on the guitar
My heart pounds, pebbles create longitudinal waves
in my chest pond.,water tremble within
I feel sad.
Betrothed,
During tiffin hour sitting in the common room
Don't unbraid your long black hair
Like Radha ilike a naughty rivulet
The limitless sky may be covered with dark clouds
All the neon bulbs may go out of order
I don't like to use simile for you
Where's you, where is the black clouds.
Betrothed,
Don't put your two scarlet lips
in the cup of hot tea in the cafeteria .
The flowery garden of tiny lips may wither
in the scorching sun.
Thirsty greenery may burn like a desert.
I desire to die hard.¦
Running across hot piles, the dunes of my feet
Across the white whirlpools of winding waves
Inside the dusty closet, your stripes of vibrancy lure the children
Never wanting to dull the daring sparkles, like July fireworks
Blessing your player with volleys of Olympians
Offering skills to those whose eyes lock onto you
When only the most infatuated ones unlock your full potential
Bending vertebrae and crushing expectations
Even the unathletic understand you are not just a mere toy
Aspirations were set by the youth after their experiences
Crushing nets of tangled white, you are the favorite toy of Zeus
Here is where we had our first tango
Blinding eyes and decorating skies
All on the hottest beach north of luxury Miami
Little children and parents alike yearn for your pop of color
Lovely sandbanks and crowded waters of salt are your motherland~
Storm Surprise
Desert never felt a wet time in its history
It had to drink up sun light in the days
And stand solid with the sand to pass the night
No complaints were registered when the rains came
To shock the dunes alive
They rolled along with floods and lightning
Lizards blinked, so many pounding drops unthinkable
That never seemed to stop
Legs waved like leaves then spun away
Rocks showed their heads then sunk
Winds carried on like drunken sailors
The quiet desert became a circus of whirlpools
Buried in water rings
Blending into what was silence
It still held on to tons of sand
But would never be the same again
Dry land was just a memory
Rain saw to that
Created on 2/28/15 Pick A Subject – Poetry Contest sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
The subject is "Storm"