A stirring storm of lightning like lava caused commotion.
Among seraphims and cherubims… clouded confusion.
The father asked, when all prophets failed, 'who, now, would I send?'
Celestials, like souls of ghosts, stood benumbed at your consent.
Didn't the chorus of 'Holy' give you endless pleasure?
Did the heavens strain you so that you sought earthly leisure?
The galaxies and constellations stood in sombre surprise.
Who could stop you when visions of salvation filled your eyes?
Didn't you know a cross-shaped piece of wood would be your bed?
Your flesh would be torn. Bones would be broken. Blood would be shed.
Stretching your nailed hands and your damaged legs, you would stand dead.
Wasn't it with no knowledge of grief that you went ahead?
The heavens descended on the earth at your incarnation.
Times, O Christ, ticked your timelessly timed perpetuation.
Spoke to a cloud today –
the usual conversation
about shape and size,
lows and highs...whether
my need to tote a handy, spring
loaded umbrella...or a better chance
to go without pants, dance
on the beach ~ showing off
thighs, widening sockets
of older generational eyes – he
told me of clouds who gather and
threaten, causing ships to leap into
salty lather, sailors beware!
take battened-down care! – schools
of fishes diving to ocean depths
they share, with ancient vessels (and sewage),
a seafloor covered with sandy
coinage – a diver's delight; when
stormed into sight –
more subjects of our chatter
and debates, were those of tides
and tectonic plates; also of bony-splatter:
living shrapnel, from a well aimed cannon-ball
against a wooden hull, or artillery shell,
man's modern perpetuation, of that never
settling, always heartening seafarer's knell –
I went on to ask, if in all his travels, had
he ever seen anything truly divine?
Like an angel passing...or a saucer
flying...perhaps some mythical dragon
soaring, trying to lasso down a tasty
moon ~ bring him brightly closer,
doing some dragon flips, salivating
for cheesie fondue lips....
Soft and sweet
pour on the summer heat, the lies on repeat
America is in the oncoming storm,
truth and lie, the angst within
you know who really did the election win.
Surely not the voice of people in the majority
recount, remove and deny minority
when it doesn't go your way
who is behind the perpetuation of this lie in play
and where does the future of democracy lay?
Come on America, Democrat and republican
aren't you better than this frontman -
how much truth are you willing to risk,
take a step back, review the constitutional pitch
find your way in common sense
enlighten yourselves with truth, the only defense.
Time
Time’s steady stoic countenance
Takes predetermined steps in ordered measures
Leaving no footprint hint of its presence
In the ceaseless rhythmic perpetuation,
Drumbeats of clicking perpetual movement
Without impassioned downbeats,
Never dragging chains of captured illusions,
No seconds given sanction to linger in joy
Nor cling to moments chiseled into stone milestones -
Neither consent to linger in chaotic wrenching stresses –
Face focused forward
Counting measures of the sun’s journey to dawn –
The moon’s questing for revolving skies –
Never lost in the labyrinth of déjà vu
To slip through fingers yearning to hold its heartbeat
Always clings to the noble quest serving
Past, present and future unbidden epoch
Smooth flowing unruffled tempo tread
Halted only when infinity’s eternal architect
Returns
Inviting time to rest enfolded in a mantle of grace.
5-27-21
Contest: Time
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Beyond the Black Fence
By Sy Roth
The land lay fallow
Beyond the black fence.
Growth once dressed in a white blanket of hoar in winter landscapes
Lush in summer months
Deer speckled backdrop
Munched all day behind a scrim of lush camouflage
And black birds rested on the scrub
Coupled with the land and each other
A fornucopia of perpetuation.
But like time
It marched in to war on its own turf--
The cranes, yellow tractor-footed creatures
Tore at the soil and formed mountains of dirt
That wild (plants?) draped over
And the long-necked (?) concrete spreaders
Filled the gaping foundations with its gray slush
And the deer fled
And the black birds had resting places on the open rooftops
And the last trees crumbled to the diesel monsters
Where future houses will stack itself with the firewood
Of septuagenarians and those who aspire to end that race.
Incessant noise of change
A cock-a-doodle-doo alarm
On the other side of the black fence
My side where I find comfort in a book
And a drink to whet my appetite
And conjure up the images of the verdant green that once was
And the hoary land that once was my winter vista
Pleasure Island
With its inviting oasis
Nurtures nature's purpose
For every Adam and Eve
With every act of intimacy
Mounting as the prelude
To becoming fully
And indivisibly
One
Taking them ever closer
Towards the ultimate ecstasy
Of a mutually climactic coitus
To provide a rare and treasured
Glimpse of Paradise
Trailing its clouds of glory
In nature's pursuit
Of species' perpetuation
Every cordel tells something
I don't count at that time
because i haven't done it yet
I did not learn how to rhyme ...
It was because I look for a theme
may be the moan of the emu
or sing of the nightingale
fish without hook for thew ...
So as it’s not twine
can i write the paper
without fear of making mistakes
without censoring me. yet ....
What I did was sextile
broken into seven feet
I'm not much versed in it
it's not cordel style ..
I'm Full of thirsty
I have heart pain,
I don't wish to cry
but of much distress I can die
as bull of nowhere land
nostalgia for my hinterland ...!
PS
Cordel are leaflets containing popular poems, displayed for sale hanging from ropes or string, which gave rise to the name.
Cordel is also the dissemination of art, popular traditions and local authors and is invaluable in maintaining local identities and regional literary traditions, contributing to the perpetuation of Brazilian folklore.
Grant the world,
its true condition:
be cradle of civilization ...
Life be granted
its divine priority:
perpetuation... To men
donate real
humanity condition
that is needed, and attributes
for overcoming so that
understand their divine
particle and unlearn their
animal condition ...!
Fragments by sensitivities become apparent by love,
vital shapes granted by graces in treasure of.
The larger reality of truth and will unfold,
revealing elegant mysteries behold.
Conscious grace as soul of society,
cultivated perspective empathy.
Echoing memories by that touch,
grace and fate at eternal now so much.
Superior dynamic pivotal emanates,
infinitesimal aspects sublime radiates.
Preceded intentional perpetuation,
matter by spirit and grace of sensation.
Perseverance by atonement,
merciful texture in obedient refinement.
Lives in fate walks on grace,
divine inevitable maze.
Mother Nature – Domestic Goddess
Mother Nature – domestic goddess
Hides miracles in her pockets ~
Tomatoes on exit ramps – highway largess -
Grow tranquil – neon red as flaming rockets.
Traipsing down the empty city sidewalks
Scatters vows of floral abundance
Wriggling through tight cracks with tall stalks
Coquette twirls around in daisy dances.
On vacation in windswept dry oceans
She blows a kiss of sunflower seeds –
Black-eyed Susans fed with her love potion
To flourish in sunburned soil of need.
Miracles – Mother Nature’s perpetuation
She laughs with whimsy’s propagation.
I have witnessed all three examples in this poem. The tomatoes on an LA freeway exit ramp, daisies coming up in our sidewalk and Black-eyed Susans growing wild along highways and deserts in the western United States.
8-12-20
Nature Rhyme
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
My Muse
Restless spirit of imagination sending daily inspirations
No procrastination for her assignations;
Sees every clue in her investigations - 20/20 education
Tomatoes on freeway ramps variation - daisies in sidewalk perpetuation.
8-10-20
Taken from The Tenth Muse - 7-29-20
Contest: Rithimus Divisa 4
Sponsor: Gregory Barden
Your avant-garde home fills a crucial niche
ensures the perpetuation of outrageous kitsch
The painting on the wall entitled 'Insemination'
keeps this admirer on the brink of regurgitation
That chlorophyll-fish oil drink your butler foisted on me
helps me every fifteen minutes or so to pee
As for your 'petrified out-of-water deep sea plants'
Don't look now; they're on fire with carpenter ants
Then there's your 'mahvelous' retro pet rock collection
pinched, no doubt, from the local House of Corrections
I must confess that your house is, indeed, quite impressive
~ considering that your compulsions are beyond obsessive
There’s a simple explanation,
for the great perpetuation,
of the idea around the nations,
that Santa knows everything kids do.
His snow globe is a crystal,
it’s not artificial,
but it’s beneficial;
through it he can view you.
Even little penguins,
with their lovely beak-grins,
dolphins, bears and puffins,
find stockings full of stuff’ins too.
So when you make your wish,
just ask for your favorite fish,
I asked for a lantern-fish dish;
‘cause it’s my favorite food.
Amidst the vortex of empty time, going back a calumnious climb,
To change a love my only crime, sweet surrender of life sublime…
The Time Machines are ready still, sending me back upon my will,
To gain back love I shall fulfill, amongst meadows of the daffodil.
Evaporating reflections in my eyes, hands of time turning clockwise,
May the love we had apprise, as I look at the darkened distant skies…
The stars align for I await and the planets rebuttal in their debate,
The Time Keepers guard the gate, within their arms I leave my fate.
In perpetuation of times expanse, chronological clocks in romance,
Cupid’s arrow is ready to lance, while my heart prepares to dance…
I approach my love once more, will their love palpitate with a pour,
Guardians of time open their door as I awake out of bed on the floor.
Oct.07.2019
...turn back the hands of time
Sponsored by: Silent One
Placed 2'nd...Thank You
Oft I ponder the impulse to endure,
As I stare into the eyes of a turtle.
Start from egg bones that they are,
A part of their shelled home structure.
Them, all in a crutch, breakout as a bale,
Outlast their plight, cross a beach, they hightail,
Sights life from above that swoops down in a dive,
For they too, like them, must also survive.
The impacts continues, of their small compact life,
As they waddle for now, they will tip toe when older,
But when they are at sea, they glide with their flippers,
Yet even to that end, perpetuation of strife.
Semblance my thoughts, of rivals beyond a framed entity
The expanse in an ocean of life, and of its brief, eternity.
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