My heart ever palpitating at raw memories
of a promise buried in the sands of time
while life goes on in its many shades of dusk.
Ghosted by the vague recollection of a distant daydream,
the heartbeat pregnant still with a glimmer of hope,
the remnant murmur stranded on a forgotten beach.
AP: 1st place 2026
Midnight came and went as perilous as a wolf howling at the moon.
—by poet
Tease of time, palpitating pearls,
she’s flirting with the bluest eyes,
framed in heaven’s clouds. Girlish curls
capture a sigh and peer clockwise.
With princess charm, she winked, half-turned
to run, ascend the starry night.
One glass slipper in moonshine; spurned
like a pauper in class-ignite.
Will the foolish prince sip from the glass?
Mere gaze to her direction, goosebumps perforates my skin
There's something out of this cosmos in her aura.
Sense and meaningful in me,
at loggerheads trying to define her.
Tap into my senses, the mess is beyond containing,
melting seduction, dripping all over my body.
caught within dungeons of my own heart desires
Her radiating flawless pigment,
complimented by her smile
I'm gasping for breath,
fear I may be palpitating
Ease the volt, In my now state,
I fail to keep up
The strikes are too strong to bear
Woman daughter, be gentle on me
My only crime, is falling in love
Peep closer, see the bruises on my knees,
from kneeling and praying for a better half.
Lil did I know, heaven would delegate a goddess
In a human form
Back on my knees,
Palm to palm,
Sending gratitude to heaven
For not only listening but responding to my prayer.
Today, in my mailbox, a gift wrap was delivered,
Signed xoxo Amahle
#Poetic_ink
Fistful butterflies sway along with the wind.
Ever frolicking through the vibrant desires.
Fistful sand slipping down in haste.
Unbothered about the delays and tussles around.
Fistful days flipping over.
Highlighting every single day.
Fistful memories binding themselves together.
Creating a most treasured treatise.
Fistful wishes probable, contingent or disguise.
Forever igniting the coal inside.
Fistful choices through the passable maze.
Attempt to escape but no respite.
Fistful thoughts sparkling out of palpitating chords.
Capable of entangling entire life.
Fistful learning running through the veins.
Enabling sturdy stature to prevent the derail.
Fistful steps towards the embarkation.
Creating a journey that travels through the stars.
Fistful smiles fluttering around in joy.
Contagiously sorting out the difficulties and sorrow.
Fistful opportunities that emanate from hard work.
Enough to be the cynosure through the rise.
Fistful always lets the phoenix rise.
Every creation is a conscious choice.
Fistful time .....may what....may I write!
3min Write' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Dated: 16.09.2024
Blue
twinges
of lament
cast gaunt shadow
o’er my dreadful pang
as a grim mist segued
into dark claustrophobic
cantons where rabid zeal of hearts
once smouldered from magma’s deep red vein
Yet I cling to golden dawn recall
of lazy strolls in lush green mead
wild sniff of purple heather
neath sun-drenched sky aflame
gusts of joy rippling
froth-rim brook waltz
now toilworn
gaudy
dream
Haze
born of
mellow flight
as hunches splay
across foamed pool morn
plop of jaspers echo
icy shriek as chalk mark toe
dips into a whirlpool eddy
to soothe stark reflections so forlorn
Those august palpitating heartbeats
etched in vivid ripple canvass
entwined that fleeting pearl drop
bead keen ink glint token
a pledge once fervent
now rose tinted
phase on brink
of times
lapsed
Thinking of tonight
Finessing of the moon
I hear my own heart palpitating
In my every thought
All tender mercies hot murky
Mercury thoughts summer's
Magic you know as much as I
July heart's never lie
They teach us loving lessons
Every night
Caress me tenderly baby
Caress me with your sweet
Scarlett lips silky of the moon
Cardiac condition lovers times
3,000 summer nights endless
Skies lazy afternoons
Feverish perspiration on
Forever nights erotic sweet
Flight. Slay me
Tell me lover please what intimately
makes you tick
So I can summon forth bye whatsoever
means
I may intricately hand craft a bespoke clock
That pulses and count's time in accordance
to your particular individual heartbeat
That whence it chimes and strikes the bewitching hour of the truest form
of pure love
The second minute and hour hand's
grind the entire world to a frozen stop
Because nothing else not even time itself
progresses in this vacuum bubble
No light emitting speed permitting
pierces relatively between the steely
gaze of two
And matter's not how many minutes
hour's day's or months may pass
Until he or she blink's first only after then
the hand's of time are permitted
To the pace of their elevated
palpitating beating heart a skip
along once again
Some people live in cardboard boxes
others between buildings
Certain individuals beneath a tent
others under bridges, or close to dumpster bins
Palpitating life on the street,
you never know who your going to meet
It can be lonely and cold out there,
some people's houses are made of brick and some of air
Some old folks wear pajamas at night and own heat
others huddle in layered used clothing, shivering from cold
under garbage bags and dirty things;
I for one thank God every day for the roof over my head
No greater comfort, then owning a front door with a lock
and a furnace that works ;
A mattress with blankets, pillows that smell nice
Thank you God for all of that .
November 15, 2021
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Contest Name Thanksgiving Blessings | Enter Contest
She ain’t the belle of the ball anymore
She’s not the picture
hanging on the wall
behind every dorm door
Miss Best Beauty
is no longer
the fave social media queen
That short-temper smile
don’t enamel contrite
gleam supreme
The autumn reign was semester short
as a mid-summer moonbeam
She’s not the hookah heartthrob
of every palpitating Y eye
testosterone dream
On the cute campus dance floor,
she curvy ain’t
the belle of the homecoming ball anymore
Hash tag splash
some ugly meme paint
This picture ain’t pretty
lipstick quaint
Give a kiss of death
to the hip flirtatious pledge darling
Professed Valkyrie
of TA many e-z Y conquest
Peer voted Super Hottie Best,
this belle had a novocaine, nosedive ring
Got a bosom pain degree,
false vows in the pleasure chest
Silver tongue hourglass-shape laid:
Tainted palette promises on a circular chime
Her pulse fade
is a wrinkled tick-tock portrait
To no acne avail,
pouty pigment
don’t age pageant well
Pretty poor fall from grace
was her
diva dropout farewell
11-01-21
The Devil Wears Titles:
President, Senator, New's
Anchor. The Devil can look
spiffy and sharp: a big city
Governor quoting scriptures,
her voice, soothing and melodic,
though a lying Harp – The
Devil can mandate vaccines
for children, needlessly putting
darts of drugs, that may cause
lethal damage, in the arms of
developing young bodies with
tearful eyes and palpitating hearts –
The Devil is alive and well...
transforming American into
an experimenting Hell!
Shadows walk the land
beneath the clouded blue painted sky
as winds blow light but fast on the fly
the shadows fall;
spectres beneath the mighty oaks
haunting echoes of time asleep and woke
whisperings of hellos and goodbyes
shaded in the pathways narrowed and wide;
where footsteps cannot hide
and history stretches across the great divide,
the sun rays blanketed in dim and fade away
warm humid air midday;
easing into cool, dark passages of shade
moments of August slowly slip and sway
an end to the sultry summer days that wave
palpitating in the shadows and the shade.
Palpitating breath of Greed
Masks the Voice of Conscience
When one seeks to be redeemed
Unveils what was tucked away
Hidden until required
Unmasked something different
Once neglected hastily
Loses conscience itself
Loathes being Provoked
Returns at a great price
Tragedy of what it was masked over
Feeds on the ill-will of lies
31 May 2021
Voice of Conscience Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
I've been writing countless poems all my life
With tears as my medium, unpigmented ink
While sulked in the chair where you used to sit on
Words became traces of what was once an unbreakable link.
Done! But the final outputs turned out impalpable,
Unreadable, even my tear-stained eyes started to bleed
Half-crazy, miserable, palpitating over black coffee
How long have I been a prisoner of this cranky bed?
So, I tried to draw blood again from my pale wrists
And wrote my dreams on the coffee-smudged pad
Of you and me dancing under the pale moonlight
T'was but a vague dream, surreal but so sad!
As tears outlined my scrawny cheeks, I wrote this:
"I've been writing poems for you but,
Please read this before I run out of blood..."
My bad! No apologies, I know I've hurt you a lot.
Who laid his lustful eyes on you had no feelings
that matched yours palpitating with tenderness;
he had nothing to offer you truly but pretension...
not caressing you and making you feel his passion.
What seemed true was shallower than empty words;
his possessiveness never brought any smile of gladness,
any sigh of hope beside a burst of casual laughter
you could have done without in the midst of anger.
Some say that delights are very short joys,
those escaping moments never to be seen again
in happier days when time stopped ticking minutes;
who can erase them from a mind that couldn't condemn
lies but forgive them with a gullible innocence?
Can truth be hidden under the mask of pretense?
What seemed true seemed shallower than empty words,
more painful than an open wound that resisted healing;
is it worth chasing a lovely dream until moonlight becomes
that invisible glimmer when darkness starts disappearing?
I'm in a cruel and mysterious world,
Where pains and affliction are served cold,
In the farthest edge of the nights,
Leaving fathomless depths of suffering to tear me apart.
As if smitten by a sudden spasm,
I'm awaiting my summons to the eternal silence.
Fettered by poverty and toil,
The frosty thraldom of winter is all over me.
My hurrying thoughts clamore for utterances,
As my whole frame seemed collapsed and shrinking.
In this breathless chase of life and survival,
Nature seemed to revel in unwonted contrasts.
Palpitating with numbness and wounded sensibility,
I'm wrapped in a veil of lassitude,
Again, stamped with unutterable and solemn woe,
But the paraphernalia of power and prosperity won't die in me.
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