A THING PERCEIVED-:-
colour
distanced
perceived
remains
visible
in a STRUCTUAL ANALYSIS
practical
pictorial
composition
phenomena
inscribed
with GRADUATED COLOURED
drawn
notations
exemplified
perspectives
particularised
One found my love to be so unholy.
Another found my love to be so unruly.
Many so soon went away unexpectedly.
This final one though loves me so truly.
I-n
V-iews
Y-ou
A-re
L-ooking,
E-yes
D-o
O-pen
©bfa050925
Monocrostic (Birthday of Ivy F. Aledo)
He has a gift little perceived –
A mind for temperament and thoughts.
That he is one of privilege
Is both natural and mysterious.
Such witchcraft to them of fright
Puts them to good reactions –
Harmless to a passer-by –
Helpful to a set of events.
It was taught by a Master –
His mind is only existence.
We walk about – caught unawares –
Then he finishes my sentence
And with the magic he has –
He twists the day as we go.
For that I could kiss his head –
It impresses me so.
I walk in the door,
my dog is there to greet me,
wagging his tail furiously
whilst sniffing around my shopping bags
He has that suspicious, perplexed
look on his face ,
one I’ve seen so many times before
I know what he’s thinking:
how the hell do I regularly come home
with a fully cooked chicken in a bag,
Yet he cannot find so much as a stale roadkill
when I bring him for a walk?
I look back at him, incredulous too…
do you really think chickens
just immolate themselves,
then jump cooked
nice and juicy into a bag
for me to pick up along the street?
He’s still anxious and perplexed
as I dole out his share
Imperceptibly, our curiosity
and suspicion of each other evaporate,
as we polish off this beautiful creature
Soon I’m licking my fingers,
and the real miracle happens
when I say,
“Hey Siri! Put the TV on channel 8,”
and on comes the sports news
The dog too is thoroughly engrossed,
licking his — erm — himself.
# precious little words always say more ~ just never in the way we think #
Let me sit down
and observe the rising
of the August' sun,
it's gorgeous to watch it
unfolding and illuminating
the entire valley that was unlit!
I refuge into the awakening Earth
with an awareness not perceived by others,
afraid to be blinded by such a brightness...
and doing so, I won't witness what is worth!
Let me speak humanly with those creatures
ready to explore another morning,
not knowing its outcome, only hoping
for calmness and pleasant slow-passing hours!
What is seen may seem mysterious and illusional
without having a persuasive concept and a firm belief:
that everything created sustains life despite the grief
and other calamities not imagined as superstitious;
what seems inconceivable is another truth so delusional!
It's the closing of a debatable day lived amid
the perception of faith and its endless possibilities
to clarify questions that have been ignored;
can an unenlightened person find all answers?
When there are no doors, all and sundry,
like the wee willy nilly winds,
are welcome to come and go, as they please.
Blow-ins, blowouts, are free to enter or leave.
But feng shui would like missing doors
to be not directly opposed,
or for something to lie on path between,
to keep the gi energy inside the house.
Install a door and everything changes,
someone must open it, close it and
decide when to keep it open or shut.
This depends on the wants, needs, will and whim
of the door-keeper, or you
if you have a key?
Feng shui is happier with doors
as the qi energy can't flow straight through.
It can be channelled within and absorbed.
For feng shui, a strong front door is essential.
It's the mouth of qi, where energy flows into the home.
The front door should be wooden, clean and bright, uncluttered.
The path to the door should be open, clean, bright as well.
This allows gi energy from the environs
to move smoothly into a home,
to enliven the space within.
Make your front door a cheerful, bright
and welcoming face, for you,
and whoever comes to your door.
A stone thrown upward
hits someone who doesn't take
offense or insult.
Deluded by life over all.
Scratch and climbing at a wall.
Tomorrow, is thought to bring hope again.
Succumb, as today it seems never to end.
Trust shattered, left desolate, withdrawn again.
Death beckons like an old friend.
Lo! Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!
Lo! See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts! The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures. For the night has fled!
Lo! Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing cock, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!
Lo! Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!
Rhymer. February 19th, 2018
Perceived and Heard Regardless…
(Or First Movement of Beethoven/Ray Charles Symphony)
The words echoed;
no sounds were made.
Exploding images
illumed the darken realm.
Pity the ears that can
but do not hear;
Pity the eyes that can
but do not see.
Precious is the echoed imagery
painted on the silent
vibrating canvas
Stretched across the
womb of mind.
Moving fingers
having spoken and sketched,
move on—searching the silence.
Lo! Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!
Lo! See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts! The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures. For the night has fled!
Lo! Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing cock, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!
Lo! Give thanks for the wakening of a sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!
Rhyme. August 23rd, 2016
A poem's a painting of a verse
whose artist never once rehearsed
the hues that he himself conceived
for print.
For poetry cannot be taught,
nor can the perfect poem be sought--
a poet's words are not produced,
but sent.
A poem's a planted evergreen,
the likes of which no one has seen,
whose leaves are luscious and exempt
from wane.
For poetry cannot be stopped,
nor can existing trunks be chopped--
the trees of ancient planters still
remain.
A poem's a lie sincerely sold
or truth that is corruptly told,
completely clear or indistinct
when read.
For poetry cannot be wrong,
nor can it ever not belong
to life-- the two forever will
be wed.
A poet is a medium,
and through his art the world becomes
available to be perceived
as such.
A poem can never be or say
too much.
Mystery discreetly disclosed.
Changing moods reveal details of shades
edit
Designed by nature with a clue,
Watchful minds eye, will break the venue.
edit
Blended aspiring deployment,
Thine story so brightly depicted.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.