Deep pulse starts to rise high
As a burning fever mounts and spirit ascends
To the sky
Dim turns the light
Each breath, a soft sweet song, extends
The night
Senses
Bloom and transcends
Joy
Deep pulse starts to rise high
Each breath, a soft sweet song, extends
Joy.
Moon Hiku 35
t s t h e
n
u s
o k
night`s orb m y
casts shadows l y~
o h
n s
g a n d
lovers` a -p -p -l -e of e~y~e~s.
''Mighty: 'Mira, have you seen the dam's reservoir level rise?''
Its water spills over, a dangerous disguise
Mira: ''Yes, I have, my friend. It is a terrible sight
The flood brings a destructive might".
Mighty: ''The Engineers, they say it is all for good.
To generate power, for the people's hood.
But what about the homes and lands below?
The waters rage, will they ever know?''
Mira: ''The dam stands tall between us two.
A symbol of man's power, but also their woo.
Nature's force, cannot withstand.
The flood's fury will sweep through this land''.
Mighty: ''Oh! Mira, I fear for those downstream.
Their safety and homes seem like a terrible dream.
The water's rise knows no bounds.
Its power is immense, it knows no grounds."
Mira: '' But still, we stand strong, like guardians of old.
Witnesses to man's might, and to nature's hold.
And though the flood may come, with all its might.
We'll stand here forever, throughout day and night".
So let the flood rage on, with all its might
For man and nature, will surely fight
And though the dam may falter, and the water may spill.
Our strength will stand steadfast still.
The visit to Moon passes his Fall
Teeth rust and jews shrink;
I bet he must cuddle his grandsons,
Yet man oft’ runs to mount on Moon.
Brings he soil; here, he broils,
For he trusts his visit to Moon,
Yet doctors claim with hands on brain
That Moon is chaste, and visit’s in vain.
I peep at Moon whenever she blooms
To note if, she shows any signs;
Her hair she twirls, on hips her hands
And dancing and prancing she floats.
Her blinking cheeks, smile at teens,
Twinkling kisses creep through beams;
I bet he must cuddle his grandsons,
Yet man oft’ runs to mount on Moon.
*A 1st Place* in the following contest (judged on Aug. 19, 2020)
Aug. 18, 2020
Strand Completely New (24) ,Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
THE MOUNTS OF MADAMOISELLE L'VAMPYRE
She smiles among the dead she's come to know
her holy grail, beneath Champs Elysees,
acknowledging no one can come or go
without her word, they never find their way.
All catacombs still dark, she waits alone,
lest one should count the dead--none having breath
they're locked in grips of wall of solid stone,
but loss is her's, not knowing, what is death.
She loves the dark, and lives to make her bite
into your artery, where life it stays,
she cares not anything, not day or night,
for jugular, 'tis but poetic phrase.
Her steeds and mounts are always bred to go
There in her Mews, where death they never know.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
THE MOUNTS OF MADAMOISELLE L'VAMPYRE
She smiles among the dead she's come to know
her holy grail, beneath Champs Elysees,
acknowledging no one can come or go
without her word, they never find their way.
All catacombs still dark, she waits alone,
lest one should count the dead--none having breath
they're locked in grips of wall of solid stone,
but loss is her's, not knowing, what is death.
She loves the dark, and lives to make her bite
into your artery, where life it stays,
she cares not anything, not day or night,
for jugular, 'tis but poetic phrase.
Her steeds and mounts are always bred to go
There in her Mews, where death they never know.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
As Fall was leaving,
the chill gradually grew
and thinking of past snowfalls,
a wintry painting came to mind.
It puzzled me that the artist's name
was missing, then my curiosity began to grow.
I took it to Art Shows, nobody bought it for any price;
I posted on ebay and no one responded, no one ever bid.
Whoever painted it, had vivid imagination and perception;
all the beauty seen in the majestic mounts revealed splendor.
I decided to hang it over my computer desk,
and once in a while I glance at it with admiration,
but it still fascinates me since the day
I found it by the trash can; I guess they didn't know its value.
Sometimes my look wanders far being transported by fantasy,
and at the foot of the mounts I stand contemplating their majesty;
I long to hear that voice rising from the snowy peaks, " I am that painter. "
Entered in Debbie Gucci's contest,
" Ten Picture, Ten poems, Ten poets, Ten Days "
Written on 1/ 8/ 2016
Poem # 4
From this glazed window over the wide and bare plain,
I contemplate mounts covered in white...
breathing the purest air, watching a kite
fly in a cloudless sky that yesterday was filled with rain!
Do I wish for spring? No, because landscapes attest
that winter is also beauty despite cold and snow!
Do I feel great sadness? No, because stillness is rest
for a weary spirit like mine surviving on a warm glow!
Cuddled up in a wool blanket that grandma crocheted
on harsh winter nights, I'm munching on warm bread...
the kind baked in a break oven so deliciously crunchy;
winter stay, let me reminisce those past ones so hasty!
For many winter days are dreary, for me it's subtle silence that lasts...
allowing more serene thoughts that have a better reflective view!
Do I rather see snow than a green meadow gleaming with dew?
My answer is yes, because it rushes in another awaited Christmas!
From this glazed window over the bare and wide plain,
I spot a lonely shallow struggling and feeling much pain;
it stayed behind to discover a beautiful season that the others dislike...
fly into my palm, small bird and admire those mounts covered in white!
sun mounts horizon
morning makes love to new day
pinks blend with yellows
kiss of night soon forgotten
distant like a memory
(June 2nd, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
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