Monchielle Poems - Poems about Monchielle

Sip from a chipped teacup, the glass is still half full. A grin frowns upside down framed by two twinkling eyes. Her brilliance lights this town. Sip from a chipped teacup, just turn the rim around. Press on and work it out, beauty and bold en force. Pure gold in a blackout. Sip from a chipped teacup, no need for something new. When it’s...

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who are we, pause to ask in as the very source that causes breath to flow which makes us feel alive and plants in heart love’s glow who are we, pause to ask by resting lower mind yet remaining aware softening attention that head and heart may pair who are we, pause to ask by befriending silence and surrendering will that upon ego death we see voids within...

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4/5/2025 On my picket fence, irritating, screeching black crows at me, do sounds, so fearlessly make! So having had it, I bought a lovely, pine cottage, on the...

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Having been, seen, so known, truth of our true being, why would we then debate definitive knowing, when poised at heaven’s gate? Having been, seen, so known, this world is but a dream, silence then is our friend, ushering bliss rapture, helping us to ascend. Having been, seen, so known, God’s energy is love, blissful touch that transforms, imbibing it we feel, surge of magnetic storms. Having been, seen, so...

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She swoons atop a berg There air water bullets On midnight's face cross low — While then besides the dark Brims in Gemini froze. She swoons atop a berg We try for scraps on ice. She is yours within me. Of these miles between us, This sea's the outer ring. She swoons atop a berg The Mercury has sank — Only a lichen's mum, A last bob underneath...

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A vine in winter weeps for the loss of blossoms, for the loss of summer, for the loss of laughter like a music's strummer. A vine in winter weeps for the wind's soft blowing, and the song birds calling while children are playing in meadows entralling. A vine in winter weeps as loneliness engulfs a snow white and frozen landscape with dark shadows of nature forechosen. A vine in winter...

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A storm in a teacup, whirling silvery clouds; Caffeine is cuddling you; It’s so hard to deny that sky devoid of blue; A storm in a teacup, howling turbid beauty; Gloomiest glitter drops lick at a murky spoon; The stirring never stops; A storm in a teacup sweetened a little bit; Lit up smile’s peeking out; Something of a striptease, steered by the slightest pout; A storm in...

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Within this lucid dream, we begin to believe, that we are body-mind, that in our waking state, to God’s light we’ll be blind. Within this lucid dream, if we but pause to ask, what is that that’s real, sliding into stillness, we’ll feel bliss beats appeal. Within this lucid dream, as witness consciousness, by thought forms not decoyed, as clear light of truth dawns, delusion is destroyed. Within this lucid...

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Sloppy hands writing blind, they can’t see but they feel; Tracing cursive letters slowly onto your back, art bleeds from go getters; Sloppy hands writing blind, beauty’s pulled from within; Dreams in abstract phrases grace the poet’s chapbook; Bonfire of heart blazes; Sloppy hands writing blind free every primal thought; Outside the lines and wild aggressive comes alive; Melting into self- styled; Sloppy hands writing blind, at times in a...

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As bliss bubbles expand, we feel each pulsation, caress divine sublime, as our meditation, synced with the cosmic chime. As bliss bubbles expand, we begin to transform, whence head and heart linking, attain in love mists warm, awareness unblinking. As bliss bubbles expand, we as a receptor, sense the throb of delight, in each body vector, as our soul’s wingless flight. As bliss bubbles expand, polarities mingle and exiting space-time, with our soul’s...

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Let’s make up some new words, they will woo a sharp tongue; Timbre tends to enthrall and leave it all behind; Hooked on that swag and drawl; Let’s make up some new words that will catch fire and spread; Smoke is everywhere fast becoming a movement; Straight fresh is built to last; Let’s make up some new words to embellish language; Culture builds confluence when we hear each...

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I am crying sorrow, daggers have pierced my heart; Lord, please grant me mercy, I mourn in dreams all night, ...

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Dancing on my own grave, both sides of the same coin; The power’s in the flip; Is it righteous or the night? A slow waltz can give lip; Dancing on my own grave rattles the underground; Unruly sounds fill the air; Ombré locks dressed to kill, a bit devil may care; Dancing on my own grave the necromancer moves; Calling the wrong magic; Bare bones...

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How still is our stillness, if thoughts forms yet intrude, such ripples scarring soul, so little wonder then, our presence feels not whole? How still is our stillness, if as yet we don’t know, who we really are, mistaken we’re this form, from truth drifted afar? How still is our stillness, if we’re fearful in dreams, haunted by ghosts conjured, with yearning for God’s touch, in heart yet to...

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Beyond the hills, the storm, oh, yellow queens they quake; poor Autumn aspens feel old weight of weakened leaves the hostile winds will steal. Beyond the hills the storm it brews, like coffee black. A bitter sky will fall —dainty saintly sunlight a martyr for the squall… Beyond the hills the storm! My dreams in strobe-light flash, engage in shadow dance— the clash of sane and bane; a...

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