Contest: Wonder of Soul's Expression
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: 29.12.2025
Where the road hums, the mountains listen,
When the evening sings, soul beats glisten,
Near the silhouette of the parched tree,
The river flows and black clouds float free,
Turn night's naif music up a notch,
Hidden in the dark shadows I watch,
Stardust tames me, I'm the night nymph, Dree.
SCATTERINGS
anticipates
in sequence
a
breathtaking
possibility
constructive
& respectful
but
otherwise
unremarkable
a
distinctive
image
a
level
of reverence
in a
designed pattern
a
comparative
once
formed
as
a key
approach
clearly
meaningful
to explore
the
long-forgotten
idiosyncratic
&distinctive faux-naif style
with innate ability
to elevate
the everyday
carefully
spotlighting
&highlighting
an important facet
to celebrate
innovation
Two gems settle in your chest; love and sympathy.
Which prevents obstacles but not wisdom
Quietness contributes to the rise and serenity.
Times of jaunt and jubilation with no schism
Many crowns gaze away from the ground.
There are no swirls infused into the screen.
The tones soften as the deep-hued downed.
Feeling the slight shifts in his close keen.
Inept and vain ambitions utter to fade away.
Aim to unleash the resources of practice
Allow us to care for our stallion today
Inviting our perceptions to beat in consonance.
He is again intensely in love with her.
Coupling in the early era of kid's ethics to give
Then comes the discovery of one's genuine fear
The sense of what is precious to live
Tulips bloom, forming a hazy layer of clever
shine brightly with a light that is fast and safe
as we get closer to our goal, a wave of pleasure
Such a serene emotion and a pure spirit is not naif
Written MAY 10, 2021
Workshop: Inviting The Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jack Webster
Voice Of Unfortunate
-Azad Babu
Today our want is
Some food to live;
We want no so ease,
Only need relief.
Our dream is naif,
We do ever combat
With lack of life,
Hap is our regret!
We dark by polity;-
Be poor by canker,
King isn’t hearty,
So, we hate any war.
Now we are cipher,
So, none us honour!
A
style
of art
as distinct
as a finger..print
When the naif that whispers
deep passages of unheard words
into my ears, stop.
I am once more able
to hear my own thoughts.
How they drift.
And, begin to speak,
a collision of words.
Those that vibrate the
walls of my mind.
Recalling the confusion
of free thought. I have once
more submitted my being
and am lost. That within
my own thoughts.
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