Rust clings like memories,
framing the world,
a mottled lace of time—
the window pane,
a portal to whispers,
yet the view is
a watercolor dream,
blurring edges,
softening the harshness,
where light dances
through corroded veins,
and beauty hides
in the flawed
and the forgotten.
The silver moon capped the golden sun ~
Festive eyes gathered for fun
Down distance streets distant days obscured
Visions of idle things resting in the weeds skeletal
Rusted eons have fallen machines dead
In their stance flies flicker and dance strange
Streets stretching off into complex patterns a city
Grid of a dead metropolis alternate realms
Realities a different shade of blue a red deeper
Like blood or a shade of rose a blue the sky clear
Ice on stretching seams leading away into
Unknown distances along strange streets,
Different highways or detonated boulevards the
Tanks roll or the boots match watching the rockets
Fly to war in the distance down different avenues
…of the world within worlds and without!
On the way of choosing my path,
right or wrong I lost my mind
Thoughts are there stored enough to perplex,
waves of words blew all along the way,
unclear, be more precise else I might be caught,
caught in a couch tied with a string,
after when the precision came
It came, stayed roamed, gathered all along,
tied into a single knot,
which finally I tried to untie but burnt,
burnt in the very own place of where it was born
So now precision might not be the concern
Something more, more precise than the precision
Perhaps more accepting and acknowledging
By thinking this way, once again lost,
lost into the whirlpool dying deep down of thinking
what is indeed needed to be thought by this mind,
of what really is it trying to do with me?
The ancient Hindu text mentions the story of the celestial dragon,
the serpent that drinks the nectar of Gods holding wagon.
Indicating that abundance has its limits, get to the grips,
beheading the manipulating leech causing the eclipse.
The temporarily obscurity being in the shadow of another body,
or having another body pass between it for the viewers lobby.
Abandonment or the darkening of heavenly lights,
transformation and change of direction by celestial traffic cites.
The dragons bite virus in control of fears and misconception,
false perceptions and slippery tongue promised protection.
Orbital motions repeating harmonic patterns,
those who trust them know all what matters.
Revelation of ancient testimonies reveals the truth,
while others trying selling you the ferry tooth.
When words and promises have no meaning,
marbled sculptured humanity is rabidly declining.
The ecliptic dragon as spiritual liberator,
when pretenses desires are the generator.
The truth even obscured is the solution,
observations by twilight eclipse conclusion.
The dream maker of life and its credits,
time snaps where change is necessity edits.
Thomas Obscured
forgotten
by our religion
we have avoided
this channel to truth..
it is a direct channel
not impeded by tenets
and teachings which
veil that which
is obscured..
there is a fear
perhaps
which holds the
veil in place..
a glimpse plus
some courage
and we are pushed..
recognizing Peace...
(Referring to the Gospel of Thomas..)
Sitting in a corner, observing events as they unfold
I live like a toad in my precious humble abode
Sleeping and Waking up from the same place
In a world obscured but certainly secured
Not that I am jailed in this place of grace
But that I don't want to face a life time disgrace.
When it looks like the fire inside were doused
Do you pretend not to notice?
Do you try and lit it up again?
Will you walk away without a second thought?
Knowing that when you saw her “that day”
She had a smile that said I am me
Comfortable
Receptive
In my own skin
Do you probe for the reason behind the death stare?
When all she needed was to know you care
That you noticed her smile has disappeared
That the shadow of troubles was floating in the air
She just needed you to listen
Perhaps hold her hand
Not to judge her
When she felt a little bruised
In all this she might need a hug
Will you be there?
Will you turn your back?
Will you walk away?
With the pretense that everything is still okay
©200120161331
Tennis in the wind
An audience like fans to the trees
Serves an unfair advantage
That is truth,
in England
all people have looked as polished talents and genius,
even a driver there
or porter, or steward,
or begger, or trader,
or stealer, or priest,
or head of ministry
do not work without great quality and service.
There is, seem, only one stupid man - mister Bean,
who prevailed all brilliant persons given together.
They are all have made themselves
as they want and planned
through successful work
and competition
in various branches and activities
of high improved community,
while the others unlucky
inhabitant of authoritarian countries,
post-soviet states
and Islamic caliphates
as the Iranian regime
that must proud only with Omar Hayam
in last millennium,
have had a very small portion
of really famous and respected men
or just intrinsic professionals.
And their waste majority
looks like as screws in clock,s engine,
or as soldiers in training camp of rebuilding empire,
or as religious fanats in Friday namaz
or as new slaves
in collective farm and weapon producing factories.
They have not any chances
for arise to personality
in terms of quality and standards
so usual for British community.
First look, glasses as my eyes glance
From left to right I begin to read
Much as if I were in a trance
My education faulted for this deed
Second look with randomness I search
Looking for a pattern, no not the glasses
Does this person attends a formal church
This poem is one of their trespasses
Third look now the compulsion takes me
The poem was edited to fit the picture
But I say this isn’t possible, it can’t be
If so they surely deserve a stricture
Three looks, glasses or not, all were done in vain
If you copy, paste, add punctuation then it’s plain
Poem by Wayland Bunch for Occlusion contest. This is a rhymed form of poetry under 20 lines, but technically it fits better into the category of Sonnet, so I don't know if it will be accepted. If not back to the drawing board lol.
Smiles hide a sadness,
a haunting madness that
runs in circles.
Things accumulate,
rise up around him
until he is safe,
and obscured.
Unseen, unharmed,
unheard of.
Silent cries silenced, still.
He aches for you to hear him,
reach in and pull him
from the pit.
Take his hand,
please.