Settled to watch, inspired by that instant moment,
While seconds send raptures as I gaze all alone.
When day melts into night, a regal bestowment.
Lights begin to shimmer, it softly nears twilight.
The soft gentle perfume of wafts nature's cologne.
The horizon creates a radiance so bright.
This magic captured with a deepest ruby hue.
The artist's kaleidoscope of warm colors shown,
Detailing exquisite soft crimsons etched in view.
Streams of color blend seamlessly in swirls of light.
Brilliant tapestries nature has carefully sewn.
Heavily embossed across the sky, birds in flight.
Now sunset’s glowing color of crimson and gold,
With a sweetness, and a warm tranquil overtone.
As night’s velvety blanket begins to unfold.
Whispering breeze wafting gently, flickers a scent.
Nestled snugly, caressed by joy I've never known.
Evokes aromatic bursts, earthy by intent.
A cello moans through cedar fog,
low notes trembling between her teeth.
Amber bowstrings tighten, vibrating against ribs—
wood groans beneath the weight of sound.
Resin clings to fingertips,
drawn taut over hollow curves.
Each bow stroke sharpens the air,
Splitting migraines into cascading cacophony
The final note—
held breath, a whispering overtone,
unraveled into stillness.
Quote: "Tomorrow's sun will rise, either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds, but it will rise." Unknown Author of a well known poem.
As the day meanders by,
Sunbeams still stream from the sky,
With so many promises left to fulfil.
And a relaxed sensation lingers still.
Euphoric stimulations rush through my mind,
A pulsating tempo, urging me on to unwind.
A peace in knowing, what I know to be so,
I fret for the knowledge of what I don’t know.
Alarmed yet inspired by the sun’s sudden sinking.
The loss of this day sets my mind feverishly thinking.
A panicked realization, harshly jolted by twilight.
The day is ending and turning to night.
I watch the golden orb with its crimson halo.
Each unfinished promise must wait, this I know.
The sun melts into the far off shadowy hills,
My failure to complete each task, now gives me chills.
However, sunset’s glowing beauty of splendor untold.
I rest as night’s velvety blanket begins to unfold.
With a sweetness, and a warm tranquil overtone.
Knowing that tomorrow’s arrival is surely set in stone.
Multitudinous bells secern the tones
as may resound sharp bamboo xylophones.
Pulchritudinous bells have rhythmic ding,
others that linger with tedious ring.
Some little bells can echo a jingle
that surely bestow a Christmas tingle.
Quite many bells ting melodious chime
prompting our schedule's punctilious time.
A carillons' unique, harmonized bells
swing from gentleness to overtone swells.
Suspended bronze discs reach resonant gongs,
characterized by gregarious songs.
A bittersweet bell that distantly tolls
announces angelic release of souls.
The day is done. Travel dispersed, no more roaming.
Between dusk and sunset, it’s the gloaming.
I settle to watch, inspired by that instant moment,
When day gives over to night a regal bestowment.
Lights begin to shimmer, as we near twilight.
Across the horizon created a radiant glow so bright.
This magical moment captured with a deep ruby hue.
Detailing an exquisite hefty crimson etched in view.
Streams of color blend seamlessly in swirls of delight.
Heavily embossed across the faded sky, birds in flight.
Sunset’s glowing color of crimson and gold,
As night’s velvety blanket begins to unfold.
Whispers of a breeze wafting gently, flickers a scent.
Evokes aromatic bursts, sensual yet earthy by intent.
With a sweetness, and a warm tranquil overtone.
I am nestled snugly, captivated by joy I've never known.
Capturing my imagination of a candle in glorious blaze,
My breath extinguishing it to create the dark night haze.
Sponsor Mark Toney
Contest Name 2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 3
The day is done. Travel dispersed, no more roaming.
Between dusk and sunset, it’s the gloaming.
I settle to watch, inspired by that instant moment,
When day gives over to night a regal bestowment.
Lights begin to shimmer, as we near twilight.
Across the horizon created a radiant glow so bright.
This magical moment captured with a deep ruby hue.
Detailing an exquisite hefty crimson etched in view.
Streams of color blend seamlessly in swirls of delight.
Heavily embossed across the faded sky, birds in flight.
Sunset’s glowing color of crimson and gold,
As night’s velvety blanket begins to unfold.
Whispers of a breeze wafting gently, flickers a scent.
Evokes aromatic bursts, sensual yet earthy by intent.
With a sweetness, and a warm tranquil overtone.
I am nestled snugly, captivated by joy I've never known.
Capturing my imagination of a candle in glorious blaze,
My breath extinguishing it to create the dark night haze.
Making it known in the twilight zone,
an unknown, error-prone player reached a milestone
using follicle stimulating hormone
to produce a phytohormone clone of Alicia Silvestone
honed from a fully grown breastbone and stray histones.
Above the wind blown ozone- a moss-grown millstone
the well known capstone of a milestone not foreknown.
Better known was Paula Poundstone
for taking growth hormone when fully grown
who could hold her own against the overblown overtone-
of reggaeton,
to win a starring role in Philosopher’s Stone,
You may think this poem is overblown
An alphabet kaliedophone.
A mining of words that are super unknown
And bemoan its pretentious overtone.
A poem that’s nothing but shadow and stone
Contrived to tickle your funny bone.
Liberty,the poet’s pride where inspiration flies free in light&space.Concentrated& alive this friend within,distilling hidden essence ,the unstated enigma,an overtone without words,flooding out as yesterday’s rain,pure poetry in still life. From a passionate silence touching the void within,words just flow from infinite imagination,oozes &permeats beyond poetry,beyond language,this novelette of structured prose of yesterday’s buried in today.
Beside the placid waters of the Rhone
A classical village rises to meet the sky,
The magnificent steeple an inverted cone
Hoists a Saint Anthony’s cross to passersby.
The placid waters of the Rhone reflect
Tightly crowded flats along the banks
While gondola-like barges quietly bisect,
Creep behind a steamer in solemn ranks.
Beyond the placid waters of the Rhone
Behind where the hamlet cannot expand
Where artist has never dimensionally gone
Are meadows and fertile stretches of land.
Above the placid waters of the Rhone
And the village so central to this scene
A cerulean sky lends a peaceful overtone
With wispy clouds, a sight not often seen.
Published in PS: It's Poetry
Anthology of Poetry Soup
Arczis Web Technologies, Inc., 2020
Chosen as a FIRST PAGE PICK
All Poetry Website
July 25, 2021
Who am I to take her innocence.
To caress her untouched virgin fibers.
This is not a negative connotation of lust,
it's an intimate overtone to show affection.
I tell my heart to be patient,
yet it irks from the rub of lingering
and it's flustered - feeling lost,
as tomorrow has no guarantee,
but she lives in a fantasy of dreams,
where her mind paints a different reality.
Art of the heart is not so simple -
in our predicament of sensibility
and it would be selfish
to convince her to stay,
but tragic to let her leave
and then she tells me how
she cant live without me,
so we remain helpless,
two souls on two different shores -
content with being lost at sea.
Simple Musing
Silent One
30 October 2019
Boredom
is an overtone of
the quotidian..the everyday
the mundane..as is said
"same old same old.."
seemingly there is belief
of an inequality
showing up on occasion
and labeled as exciting or
not so exciting..
yet..
the root of our boredom
as with our fears and angst
is the concealed culprit:
an unquestioned belief
in a life lived in separation...
blinded by a rhythm that died a long time ago
i revive the beat and myself everytime i press the fingerprint
today i mark with makeshift age spots
nowadays i decorate with a few long forgotten notes
perhaps i should put a jazzy overtone with an undertone of latin flavor
maybe then i would love it instead of list it
sipping on the cream soda of my playlist
i survive on a deserted island long ago overtaken manure in the form of quicksand
hey, quicksand, perhaps i will pull out that 45 and go on a closed eye trip to detroit
then again, hold up, LIFE.....i cannot leave for i am behind all daughters named billie
i will just throw on a fox trot compilation in my mind and find 78 ways to fry modern times
I am drunk with beauty,
interludes of ecstasy engulf my spirit;
Reflected in bold strokes,
taking me into the realm of beauty.
This impression appear before me
with a childlike innocence
and yet like a child they
remain indifferent to what I think,
but then it speaks.
My eyes gazing away into the distance,
thoughts seemed far away,
deep into another realm,
dreaming in the presence of nature.
This beauty,so near and touchable,
healthy,strong and alive,
with an exotic impression,
a puzzling melancholic overtone,
an awareness that something is happening
which I neither know about nor understand,
but nature intended it that way forever mysterious.
It is that unfathomable hidden part of myself,
my divinity,my soul and my spirit,
which no outsider could understand,
I didn't understand it either,
But was able to express this sensation,
feeling,and mood called Beauty.
©Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Five Shades of Anthracite
Triads of black white and grey in the middle colour in above and out within
Five silhouettes a passion play mix shadows dancing in the moonlit night
work art and framework on the vertical horizon of ecliptic thought’s array
Alchemy casts precious golden sculptures in the feeling fondness wisdom’s
mind tending to its business slow and fast evolving rainbow’s kairos white
Five shades blend into one reasoned action intuited perception truth reality
embodiment beholding earth wind fire water aired in carbon gilded nuances on
the journey’s crested prism’s holograms when three plus two engraves infinity
They overtone refinement’s overture into the pentagon from anthracite to gold
by way of any tinted tingle unadulterated quintessential and concerted meaning
13th September 2016
COMMONPLACE VIII
Liberty,the poet’s pride where
inspiration flies free in light
&space.Concentrated & alive
this friend within,distilling hidden
essence ,the unstated enigma,an
overtone without words,flooding out
as yesterday’s rain,pure poetrt in
still life.From a passionate silence
touching the void within,wirds just
flow from infinite imagination,oozes
&permeats beyond poetry,beyond
language,this novelette of structured
prose of yesterday’s buried in today.
From Retrospective a commonplace book 2009
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
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