Varnished Tech Titans
Tattered totems tarnished
Viral tribal bible spiral
Tainted talismans taunted
Cash cows flaunted
Gerontocracy trumps democracy
Theocracy stumps hypocrisy
Autocracy dumps diplomacy
Haunted schism prism
Vaunted Fat Cats
Enigma?…just
Dogma & Stigma
Tit for Tats
Martian Martial law
Doff your hats
To techno-*wats
And petro-*rats
Deplore or Encore?
Poor Planet in flux
All about the bucks
Ersatz Fat Cats
Well More is More!
Either the sun is broken,
or someone has stolen it.
The feeling of comfort,
of warmth,
is rare these days.
I find myself longing
for the shades of summer,
where shadows of people
and things
made the world more real.
Now, mists have taken over—
the views from my windows,
a magical backdrop
for dreamy photos.
I took a walk
in the misty rain,
its tender touch
washing away the paths,
erasing old impressions.
Misty drops clung
to bare branches,
sparkling like crystals
from a realm of quiet magic.
In the silence,
I heard the sound of mists
battling the light breeze,
a pleasing symphony,
until the silence shattered
by a passing plane.
My mind snapped back
to harsh reality,
to the memory
of a landing plane
where many souls
were taken away.
I imagine their relief—
the hope of reaching,
of arrival—
stolen in cruel waves
of burning fire.
All their stories,
their hopes,
their dreams—
vanished in the smoke,
a fading echo
in the sky.
My heart sobs,
but still throbs
with the pain I imagine—
the ache in the souls
of those left behind,
their love still burning,
their grief a shadow
that feels more real
than the sun.
The sun rays hit
The pearly mists
Paste in apple.
gem in paradise
from behind falling water
mist kisses my skin
Through the Mists Of Time shines The Everlasting Light
Illumined by the Ethereal Torch of the Most High,
Forever, The Emerald Chalice Burns
Through the Ashes of Fetters, Ever-Upwards
Beyond Perils of The Lower Domain
A Golden Ballad, Such is "ONE" where Heaven Reigns
Upright, Up High, Past the Seven Gates
Beyond Seven Scintillating Lanterns held by Seven Saints,
Into Valleys of the Sacred The Eternal Flame
where Wisdom Oscillates like a Wise Sage,
there the Torch Bearers wield Banners Of Truth
that the Spark Within is Absolute,
To Infinity and Beyond, The Immortal Psalm
From Dust comes Light, From Light comes Dawn
The Lady knew he lurked but felt no harm or fear
from the knight who watched her from the wood.
His only thought was of the lovely Lady Guinevere,
bethrothed to Arthur, so he knew where he stood.
Young Lancelot, feigning interest, ignored her glance.
Insolent, she though him to be, as arrogant as an ass!
Til the day she caught his eye, hoping for just a chance
for a truce to be called, so their enmity would pass.
A meeting in the mists of Avalon, Lancelot and Guinevere
spoke of new beginnings and when their passion blazed,
love found its true course, from which neither would veer.
A vow was made that no white flag was ever to be raised.
Sweet mists of morning, and rose red mystery,
So much color all around, nothing is left to see,
Orangey mists of twilight, a tangerine surprise,
I can't see pearl stars, for beauty's in my eyes.
Golden mists of afternoon, hazy clouds in grass,
Pretty as a silken flower, though it will not last!
Deep purple midnight mists, so airy and dreamy,
Wafting in my gardens, in the moonlight creamy.
WHERE I AM FREE
My freedom lies beyond
the cloud of unknowingness
beyond mists of time where
I disappear into olive groves
which furl and unfurl in slow dawns
Here there are no gates
latches or rusty keys
nobody entices with tickets
to a show and gala gifts
dark chocolate or apple orchards
Where I am free translucent dragonflies
and red quilts are escaping memories
rooms filled with roses and ferns
or silky scarves do not exist
promises evaporate as steam
Desires for dancing legs
warm marrow, wet kisses or
tears, scars are packaged
like data bits with grapevines
Angels appear only to take a peep
Where I am free I do not exist
There dwells what you seek
and what you seek is an
illusion of Light which lives then
dies in milliseconds of ecstasy
To touch it is to orchestrate
melodies as a harmony of
unknown instruments to
convey Creation’s glances
Not all can come
where I am free !
GhairoDanielsPoetry2014
Fog, like a shroud, hangs over the valley,
muting the morning's voice, soaking the ground.
Droplets cannonball, trying to rally,
base jump the downspouts, raise echoing sounds.
Scarce is heard but a chorus of crickets.
Runoffs form rivulets, quiet joined mirth.
Does skip breakfast, stay tucked in the thickets,
waiting for sunshine, enjoying warm earth.
Silent, it slips like ghosts through the forest,
leaving no trace but a sheen on the bark.
Seemingly endless, in the aorist,
thwarting dawn's progress, prolonging the dark.
Alone, a sorrowed lover seeking trysts,
a sodden, tear-soaked spirit in the mists…
—————
For the 2020 Poetry Marathon Mile 14 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Written on 9/10/2022
an enshrouded dawn
all lost in thick orange mist
in a one hued world
redbirds are waiting
with their celebration song
a tune that's agelong
tangy dewy blooms
of a vivid magic morn
wait for butterflies
Mundane matters motley
Muddy minds mostly
Melding, moulding, miring
Mindlessly meandering
Meek moribund musing
Mindfulness missing
Mystics mentalism mimic
Marring meditation’s magic
30-June-2022
Begin with a letter Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Angela Tune
in the pupil of her eye
don't know if its lost or trapped
not sure if anything has moved
around her
hold a fleck in emerald moat
to stop from drowning
Jack seriously move over
Tyrannically Titan
----------------------i
----------------------c
maybe the wisps are dancing
maybe they are praising her
like that glint
of light
that refuses
to leave
holding on with tendril
fingertips
this poem never left her eyes
like me.
Glittery gleaming sunshine, made of a thousand colors,
Crowding the capricious seasons, where beauty occurs.
Scarlet gems in summer garden, glisten morning's dew,
The spectrum's caught in a puddle, and in rainbows too!
Radiant, sparkling brilliance, rich luster of myriad days,
A butterfly wing, a bird's feather, caught in gilded rays.
Emerald leaves are glitzy, just following the spring rain,
And sapphire skies look lovely, from the blooming lane.
Curving ever slightly,
As lines blind brightly,
Aspiring and spritely,
They come together nightly.
These few words,
Say it all.
The song of the birds,
Comes before the fall.
As they sing their songs,
We all move along,
Unto the throngs,
Where the heart belongs.
Their songs ever radiant,
Pierce on a gradient,
From the vocal ambient.
Whispering on the breeze,
The leaves begin to freeze,
As the Mist guarantees,
The ice is home, atop the trees,
Winter is here, geez.
Discourse Poem. Mist
Outside, once again, the day
Only pretends to have come.
Oh, yes, of course, our beds were left and
I do see it must be that
The sun rose — because the trees extend
Their stark branches visibly between here
And some lighter tone than night —
But were I dipping my brushes
To a palette to choose a color
For this sky, I would be opting
Somewhere near a mourning dove-gray
And a translucent mouse-white.
The true horizon lies unclear beyond
Unfalling mist with no lights able
To blink through.
The diary of Beauty for this despairing
Year marks the day as another loss.
There is no “but only” in this scenario,
For it leaves us only with wishing otherwise, or
Turning inward
To seeking the blue skies of the soul.
********. ********. ********
(c) sally Young eslinger 12/16/2020h
Thanks be to God
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