Mysteriousness and sacredness
Wished words, universes, wanted new lives
Serial lives, never-ending infinity of desire
I need this life, I want this life, in my heart
I want to do it, the mystery, and the real light
The only one, the living sacredness of life
Here is not a tale of the mysterious kind
In the human world, this is just a movie of the fantasy mind
This is the secret of life, just believe me, oh life
I know the truth. I know that. The fantasy is real life
We are just living in our minds. Collectively, this is sick blind
Yes. We are blind. Open your wings, and just fly, and fly
In the space, in the sky, and find your new life in heaven
Heaven is the true world, not just a religious desire
Jesus said, “In my Father’s house are many rooms.”
“This is the reality. All the words are true”, Satan said
Heavens. Universes. And Mysteriousness Sacredness is
The atmospheres of those planets
This is the reality
Everybody is a saint
If will arrive there
ghastly grimy gruesome greedy gray ghost
happily haunts Henry’s hoarder habitat
igniting icy incredulity
jiggery-pokery jimjams justified
kismet keeping kowtowing kin keen
lighthearted lively long-winded laggard laughs
magnifying mystical malefactor’s mysteriousness
When we take a bow from this earth,
the name and life we make here,
our legacies and treasures,
do not exit the stage with us.
both the rich and the poor,
the respected and puissant
will one day hear,
the infamous buzz of the fly,
where our spirits are summoned
remains solidified in mystery,
no one can descry,
it's a call we must answer.
all our fights,
all our struggles,
never takes that bow with us.
the mysteriousness of life.
our time and years scheming,
exerting our energies into existence,
our traverse and ordeals,
will one day turn to tales.
a little while, we'd be mourned,
a little while we'd be remembered,
a little while it'd be the new reality,
and a little while we'd be like
slick stories soon forgotten,
when we take a bow from earth.
.
chronology
arrow
stream
meandering
within
sizeableness
transient
idiomata&
tick squire
how many
panjandrum?
mushroomed
profusions
blemished?
& maybe
adjudication
dichotomizes
duration
dealing with
divergent
macrocosm
meditatively
mysteriousness
make whoopee
moments
melt away
Written: August 10, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice 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.
Sparrows chirped and the morning dew crisped.
High and low pitches mingle together,
cracking the mysteriousness of the wood.
Up comes an aeroplane, eating voices.
Falling feathers play heartily with the wind.
Tails and wings of the littlings appear
here and there, among the bushes and hedges,
looking for each other, with the sun’s guidance.
Berries flaunt their white, red and blue jackets;
acorns shed their shells and expose the pearls;
Wildflowers are too busy feeding bees,
their vibrancy radiates and echos.
Images, sounds, movements blend seamlessly
in this lifeless, decaying corpse of mine.
EMBRACED - Embraced
Her eyes and lips captivating,
her large nostrils and paws supping at the wind.
Trying to flee, her lustful charisma embraced me.
Her darkness twirls around in my head,
entering at my own free will.
Afraid, my senses said run, but no-my feet keep still.
So here I lay with the rest of the beast
caring nothing of the worlds between us.
Breathless, breathless, breathless.
Emulated by her prowling dark side;
her bold beauty consumes my desire,
until I am no longer breathless.
On the other side, my first loves found anew,
as I chance the epitome of mysteriousness. Do I stay or do I go?
Her eyes and lips, captivating;
her large nostrils and paws supping at the wind.
Trying to flee, her lustful charisma embraces him, her next love.
Go back now, you say, for my own first love, to fight .
I am with my first love. Right here, I shall stay.
The MUSE is it the tea, or the coffee, or the sugar, or the milk, or the water, or the spice?!
This little word drove me nuts for a long time trying to understand it
The RAVEN why is this bird so important in poetry
Is it the blackness, the eyes, the beak, the feathers or the mysteriousness?
I know if I had to write a poem titled THE RAVEN, it better be deep, great, lovely, heartfelt, dark, or nice:-) to achieve credit worth recognition
I mean the poem better satisfy the title more than anything else
Am still trying to understand this bird but the other day I was reading the scripture and I read a chapter where God sent RAVENS to take bread and meat to Elijah in the desert
And now the WRITER'S BLOCK
What is this thing? Exactly?
Is it a block somewhere in there somewhere
Blocking words somehow?
Do I need it?
The Ocean
When he heard, I had been a seafarer he wanted to know about
the ocean, “write it down for me,” he said...What nerve.
The ocean has many colours one of them is blue, sometimes it is
like a mud and often it is black with shattering of greenness like
a spring day in the Alps. There are times when it a watery Swiss,
enormous white topped waves bearing down on your ship that
shudders like a wet dog and only nuns keep their calm they have
lived a chaste life and expect to be handed a pair of wings should
things go wrong. There the is golden morning ocean, that blinks like
a million golden ducats are floating on its silky surface, not to forget
the moon casting its dark mystic upon the ocean trying to drag you
into its strange mysteriousness. I could not tell him this because at
the time I was thinking of being in an oak forest chasing squirrels and
raiding their larders of nuts.
The beginning word
Has with light
And truthful rays so bright
Descended to teach me the
Difference of good and bad
Grazing my thoughts and intentions
He illuminated upon my
Knowledge the refracted
Rays of desires of this
Moulded Cray
That normally I am pleased
To please
Which also leads to deception
The glowing flame
Whispers of mysteriousness
Of the mystic self
Which I should daily toil for
For a gain with no end
Evicted dusk from my heart
Pesters my mind
To count the cost of the loaded
Burden upon my shoulders
Hunting me back to the
Perishable luxuries surrendered
Always trying to offload
The cross I have chosen
I have an angel in my life.
God sent him from above.
To spread his wings and give his heart.
He is the type of friend you dream of.
When I’m down and need some direction
He is there with his words of wisdom.
When I am lost and need a light he is there shining bright
I can see forever in his eyes.
The mysteriousness and the dark side.
No one is perfect in this life
He doesn’t try to hide who he is.
He pulls me back when I start to stray
He understands it a personal thing.
Showing his genuine side
He will never judge or criticize.
He was my gift sent from above.
He is the proof of god’s love.
Last night I spoke to the ocean and we both had a story to tell,
It did not show anger, but it comprehended my ways,
The mysteriousness of its depth, could relate to what I felt within,
Last night I spoke to the ocean,
And it took some time to hear my voice, for all the million things I had to say, it
heard my complaints,
I cried wounding tears, and the oceans stream carried away its pain,
Last night as I spoke to the ocean, it told me one word, “hush”, and let the winds
speak for me,
Last night I spoke to the ocean…..