Feel the air wide open
her arms crave carefree days
hips sway swivel left and right
electricity in momentum
a whirligig of laughter
she can feel the swoosh of her skirt
is she alone she can tell
the air’s scented their breaths hold
clues…her body listens quiets
at his approach they move
apart together
having learned to avoid
control her palms rise
and gyrate with the oxygenated current
she has no idea
how slender and graceful
her form appears in the wall mirror
petite soles arch
and she dares tippy toes
now her sisters
narrow the gap shadow
her agile movement
her eyes open or closed
matter only to her audience
her eyes are pretty they stare
into the past and the future
blinded by an unseen light
dancing dewy delight
blood pumps through body
Savior empties All of His
curse of Cain sprinkled
oxygenated my soul’s breath
I’m reborn in heaven’s womb
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Roots write braille onto buried rocks.
Each ring a witness to droughts, floods~
observer of seasonal tides.
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Sap pulses slow as glaciers melt~
veins map stories untranslated
by wind, beetle, or human sighs.
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Underground, fungal threads ignite
enzymatic cries for kinship~
networks flaring like neural stars.
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Sunrise cracks the bark; forest breathes
oxygenated confession~
We have always known how to wait.
Equilibrium, harmony, and completeness
The Paramatman becomes one with the Atman.
It's like the ambrosic nectar and its sweetness.
Like the pristine jasmineness of the jasmine
Core dualism paves the way to non-dualism.
The illusion that blocks the way is torn away.
Divine rays outspread as though from a purine prism
Physique and psyche illumine like a heyday.
From the crown of the head to the sole of the feet
Divine vigour, like oxygenated blood, flows.
Flesh, bones, and veins feel a perpetual heartbeat.
Grace of the almighty, in every atom, glows.
Each moment is a mystery, like each day's dawn.
Between limitlessness and me, no line is drawn.
TO AN ALLEGORICAL BREEZE OF NATURE
(Apropos Of A Warm Breath Of Air)
A sweet summer breeze;
An aromatic delight:
God’s warm exhaled breath:-
My our world’s lungs soon be filled
With God’s inhaled peace and love.:-
Oxygenated
In God’s warmth, let’s seek building
A oneness nation:-
What's with this nudging-
this perpetual nudging
from deep within,
urging me to write a poem?
A poem of feelings,
of rhythm and imagery.
And I am willing-
Grasping for words,
phrases, perhaps
something in iambic pentameter.
But I am so spaced out.
I swivel my eyes-
back to front,
peering into the folds of my
spaced-out mind.
My impenetrable gaze
sifts through gray matter,
where arteries pulse
with bright scarlet oxygenated blood,
where veins run deep purple,
flushed, delicate pink.
It is quite extraordinary.
I could write of colors,
I could paint with words-
but there is nothing there.
No angst in me,
nothing provoking,
nothing bothersome,
boiling, nor bubbling.
Just the nudging,
this perpetual nudging.
Enduring in the gullibility of your
vacuous domain
Where viciousness stretched its cruel chains,
and vain vows cast in silver lined threads
were soft enough to soothe,
but sharp enough to shred.
I followed the fractures, fine as hair,
witnessed truth crackle through oxygenated air.
Your crown — little more than gilded dust,
from my puppet strings severed
I placed my trust
that you’d come undone from your reign unjust...
And in your castle carved from fears,
bloom black orchids, drenched in thistles of tears,
veiling the moon with lethal lace,
perfumed with poison, in gruesome grace.
Yet I refuse to drown in the seas of the artless,
like a marionette, silenced and heartless:
for I am the silhouette of silk and solace,
soaring beyond chains of brutality and malice,
To an island where thorn less love blooms,
and faith is the melody to erase written gloom,
from the sinister streaks of the narcissistic sun-stain
I ricochet amidst the night and champagne rain...
anger released... thus
oxygenated... breathing
... unfettered for life
Look as the fire licks what it needs
Oxygenated air it breathes in the breeze
Needing the same thing that we all need
It burns red the same color that we bleed
The Flames are alive as their own entity
Embers in the wind is how fire breeds
Jumping across paths, streets, and trees
Alighting it's journey nights shine brightly
A once raging inferno now down to ashes
The winds died down so goes the flashes
Down to a wisp slowly the smoke rises
Burnt paths dressed in charcoal disguises
bmdavey@11/21/2022
II don't know that poetry
has any obligation but
to be poetry. Ah! There
is the rub; for each of us
has our own opinion, therefore,
dominion of the heart. An organ
feeding every other part, necessary
for survival. Perhaps, if we penned
all with newly oxygenated blood?
(Forsaking our programming)
Still, even such ink would eventually
age, dry, flake away – So, perhaps,
we should write just for the breath-full day,
allowing all other gas to pass. Poetry, though
highly exalted we may wish, is general accomplished
with some contribution by the Ass.
The sun burns bright over Summer seen.
Couture-rays of extended happiness shed
no grateful rain in perfect paradise.
Flight of pumping legs and catching scent—
uncontainable rush of God’s perfume.
Honeysuckle’d kids wholesome delight
in the oxygenated swinging space
where red and blue,
and holy wings glide through
to glimpse of heaven and Summer’s wane.
Soon snow must surely fall from the sun
in dark and ice cold rays.
In Summer seen
and Summer’s wane,
let’s nudge each chin
left and right,
down and up.
Let green eyes
know of paradise.
9/22/2021
The smoke is rising
On the far horizon
The Eastern skies are aglow
With the countless fires,
Of funeral pyres
In numbers we cannot know,
Strange fires indeed
That burn for the need
Of oxygenated air.
And we, who stand so far away,
Are still left cold, and smugly say,
“We are here, and they are there.”
But it’s fools who stand and look on blind
At the smoke that’s carried on the westward wind.
© Barry Freeman 5th May 2021
Fatmir Terziu
The DNA of root’s love
… I understood it from the eyes ...
for love the derivations are light even after fleeing
that the world so conceived is sown by your tears
for this there is my mother
for this and I am in this life
to your noble silence
while the vision bathes like the moon in the distant pier
memory is a game of mind and bewildered lids
and while the lips convey as much air as the lungs need
to be oxygenated in the warmth of the blood
other love
white and beautiful
love just as old
probably because the ground requires to the feets
the DNA of root’s love…
Had you not inspired such
a flame deep and bellowing
in the cavity of my chest
where my heart used to be
i'd be not but a shell
A beautiful, soulless
corpse condemned to walk
this earth for an eternity
ready to deafen and destroy
with eternal noise
that signifies nothing
i can only add my desire
of forever being yours
make me as happy
as i can be.
Only then can I be saved
from damnation and my
soul set free.
Looking at you there from
above the clouds,
my under oxygenated hands
turn pale blue,
never has anything in
all of history looked
more beautiful than you
do in this moment.
for your smile is so breathtaking
You would wonder why anyone
ever lived in the first place
Inert with heavy slumber, i
wondered if i was ever awake
at all. was it a dream i loved?
For me,
it's when
I pause from
crying
because I hear
laughing.
The weed and the
flower
both give
oxygenated
power
Both sustain.
Beauty and pain
When we rise;
when we fall,
when storms
come and remove
our bedrock
Life still pays
dividends
with mineral deposits
and adds stock
with spiritual
significance.
A touch of sun
evaporates a lot of rain.
Whether once removed
or family added to
Life goes on
and his beat
will be something
we can ride to
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