Salty teeth gushing into a cantaloupe
pirouetting around banana heliotropes ~
Outshining in a sadness so tightly concealed
leaving no sunbursty-sickness to be revealed ~
Beachy days filled with pivoting mangroves
kissing me into a tropical lust of serenity ~
Wrinkling my verses in its sandy paradise,
praising my pearled pen in an oceanic sacrifice ~
A mango muse dancing in an aquamarine lush,
piñacoladas pampered lovingly with blush!
Parakeets squeak me wanderlust stares,
sunburn roasting my cheeks into a fiery flair
Does it bother me? not at all, not a care
I am here, in the now, gyrating above...
into a homesick sweetness of summerness love ~
free spirit of summer: a new foliage
wraps the air; vagabond daybreak spilling
colored tones on mounds of rosebuds
dripping of citrine sensation...
how beautiful they are,
enough to widen hundreds of a maiden's smiles...
and while swags of August cuddle
gemmed blossoms and herbage ,
a plump view shapes morning into a spray
of mountain petals, spreading sheer
rapture on long, lavish fields---
spellbound by sunlight of auroral tint,
flowers burst more daring than
the red, orange and pink of early beam,
as trinket of bulbs surfs along garden beds
waving their flamenco hands to greet tangled wet weeds. ...
and much like the sun they were born from,
florets thrust their tanned arms radiant. rare. robust...
here, a parade of garlands dressed in
satin hues prances on the first touch of light:
that finally, earth's flesh is decked
in summer rays, in softened prayer...
sun - up waltzing pivoting
in dawn's sweet, effervescent glow!
The void vibrates—vast, violent, vivid~
and the stellar symphony silently swirls.
Orion's orchestra joins in, oscillating overhead.
Through celestial currents, silver stardust spins~
serenading the silent spheres with songs
spun from supernovae’s spent suns.
Planets pause in their ponderous paths,
pivoting with stardust in peaceful pirouettes~
a ballet performed in the boundless blanket of night.
A combustible comet crusades through the cosmos
cantillating a melody only Jupiter understands.
Saturn's sapphire strings strum along softly~
meteorites murmur past the Kuiper cliffs.
Venturing through velvet skies,
Venus violins verses from its volcanic plains.
Mercury, with its metallic mass and molten mist,
mingles with stardust making marvelous melodies.
Stardust entwines with earth’s ethereal embers~
now effervescent, stardust explodes into song
serenading sentimental poets like you and I.
The wind arrives first.
The vane follows—
both pivoting on each other's breath,
each feigning command of the other.
Always angling,
always gesturing towards fate,
we mistake the wind for destiny
and proclaim its turning, as choice.
The pressure to change gathers early—
before any thoughts take root
before any words dare surface—
caught in vain, in breaths withheld.
Mouths set their vanes in advance,
jaws brace against what's unsaid,
both poised in futile readiness.
Trying to predict the swerve and swirl
the vane will inevitably take.
Up above a lone bird soars high,
a speck of movement in an azure sky
tainted, with the faintest streaks of white.
It spreads its wing majestically,
sunlight reflecting off its feathers,
glancing off its back.
The wind is its sole friend
as it glides over land and sea,
mountains and trenches,
cities and forests.
It goes wherever it wishes,
surveying its dominion below.
The scenes it will see, only it will know.
It flies far beyond the horizon,
pivoting and diving like an arrow
enjoying the cool air rush past its body.
Effortlessly, it glides
through sun, rain and snow,
nonchalant about what follows.
As it journeys without end across the plains,
it knows it is minute in comparison
and that its journey has just begun.
And so as we leave it to disappear from view
on its endless adventure,
we are reminded that we are not so different from it,
and it's about time we spread our wings.
How disenchantment marked a pageant
of inky lights drifting upon a skyscape
vast as heaven's trail , my heart
sinking from faded glimmers
traveling at the speed of dying flight--
when I recall one pure moment
How star-beams whisked
into the crystal sky reeling pivoting
away... all those lucent
impressions kept when unusual bands,
awakening my growing sense of faith:
Across velveteen, midnight hours --
this matchless spectacle of a display
changed my view of this universe's breadth...
I remember being blinded by bright of filament--
till my hoarse voice begged, "touch me!"
Dropping on my lap somewhat cured,
I gradually began kindling a passio
for kindness and faith outside my frail self...
When things are turning dark,
try pivoting toward the light.
Nothing grandiose-no great secrets revealed.
Just a simple pivot of the wayward mind.
Until the shine comes back into view.
Like the bow of an oft-battered rose.
Weaving its way through icy storms...
Try to follow the sextant of the soul.
Darkness is necessary to expose the blight.
But darkness is also toxic to the virgin light.
Pivot away from this molten blackness.
Pivot sharply -gently praying for direction.
This light will never slither away.
Only devils procure that illusion.
This purist light is an uncharted island.
Anchored to the strength of your faith.
I pray to someday make landfall on the cay of light.
An island that the wizened call...heaven.
my sea
it belongs to me
and my boat
i float
clarity of sealife
wee bit of strife
this byzantine ocean
crystalline of emotion
sand slips
as hourglass scripts
i love the tug
time’s tender hug
riveting
the boat pivoting
as I change roles
and slip into soles
souls of the long moon
in sway and swoon
what’s underneath
the soulful wreath
victory, how long is life
what portion of me, a wife
a mother, a sister, an other
eventually death will smother
but for now I rock the boat
tip it over and float
I belong to the sea
It belongs to me
“zen and the art of hammock”
sit
on
it
swing
legs
pivoting
feet
facing
face
place hands
behind head
relieving
pressure
off of
back
relax
Combing through the carnage
Questions outnumber answers
Derailed if dwell on the details
Will we forfeit all our advances?
Easy to get singularly focused
On second guessing decisions
Better to not ruminate on regrets
Since the past has no revisions
Power in pivoting to the present
As a new path has been charted
Final destination still unknown
But in a better place than we started
Finally finished with forcing the future
Beginning to balance the scales of life
Purposefully pivoting to the present
Ruminate, rinse, repeat was my motto
Causing consternation in all situations
Finally finished with forcing the future
Pondering potential paths pulling me away
Capping my capacity to be in the moment
Purposefully pivoting to the present
Relieved to no longer wrangle what’s next
Calmly swapping control for letting go
Finally finished with forcing the future
Diving deeper into today is the only way
Reassuring to realize I’m on the right track
Purposefully pivoting to the present
The shift has started as the stage is set
Riding the wave of what’s coming my way
Since finally finished with forcing the future
As purposefully pivoting to the present
*Image of Hourglass by Pixabay.
AUDIO: Tip; Right-click on volume then click on Loop of the drop-down menu for continuous play.
Flipped Hourglass
Count, onward we go, pivoting seized dunes,
Tempestuous pilgrimage outstretched phase,
Tick - tock, flops, 'tis a dog's day afternoon's,
O'er perpetual movements like scarred toons,
Lunar ... solar, yond the masque, nowadays,
Count, onward we go, pivoting seized dunes,
Small sand on big sand, tea time, macaroons,
Some glass menagerie extreme breadthways,
Tick - tock, flops, 'tis a dog's day afternoon's,
Fitting bits of earth, pour drain, honeymoons,
Time swings on, crystals encased pair relays,
Count, onward we go, pivoting seized dunes,
Scheherazade misses a night, whole moon's,
Bear flight you hefty load, back in someways,
Tick - tock, flops, 'tis a dog's day afternoon's,
A wonderment, gadget, like boom-box tunes,
Shifts drift collared in this time capsule gaze,
Count, onward we go, pivoting seized dunes,
Tick - tock, flops, 'tis a dog's day afternoon's.
2022 January 28
*1st Place*
Pick-A-Title, Vol 28
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 February 13
BOXER
The late October day
marked the last of the tragic
encounters framed by the ropes
he preferred to the streets where a
journeyman boxer needs more than
taped hands for the troubles he sees
There had been no title shot, no top
ten ranking, just fifteen years of blows
to the body, to the head, to the soul -
volcanic eruptions, fissures and
earthquakes, myriad tremors in the
plate tectonics of the fist-pummeled
brain
He needed sixty more seconds of glaring
bright lights and a bored, bloody crowd
in a small-time arena in a town far away
Sensing his moment, he slipped to the
right, flicked two stinging jabs, bobbing
and weaving, then three quick strikes and
a pivot to the left that put him flat on his
feet for a violent combination with a
killing uppercut that soothed the roar in
his head, reduced the blur in his vision,
sent the menacing shadow to the canvas
for the count then left him out on the
sidewalks working, breathing hard,
dancing and pivoting like a big circus
bear, punching the air on a cold
afternoon before wary passing
strangers who tried not to notice,
in a town far away!
7/9/20
"Sickening"
This is sickening
And quickening
Not at all, what I was envisioning
Nobody listening
Most chickening
Fidgeting
And limiting
Themselves to the point of being crippling
The effects rippling
And tripling
On top of it, we've got social distancing
Still dribbling
I've been chiseling
And scribbling
No matter what has been incoming
Pivoting
And occasionally grimacing
The temperature freezing, cold, mild or sizzling
The weather icy, windy, calm, scorching or drizzling
Clowns continue giggling
Petty people are still belittling
Over every little thing
Not all that riveting
It's becoming uninteresting
Sometimes I sip, sometimes I swig
Sometimes I flip the script
Even though sometimes it's rigged
Before opportunities are shriveling
And dwindling
Got to get it quickly
And differently
Meanwhile all senses are tingling
What are the remnants of today’s despair?
The unbearable sadness wickedly with intent,
The without pivoting to the realness of in it the context.
Seeming not what is envisioned to be the dispatched,
Developments of self – suckling on to be the for all.
What is of the uniqueness in support,
Through twos and threes and anchored in untested,
The appointments pivoting to the promises blanketed,
Stringing all along for the satisfaction and thrill of self-boost,
In riches and in ego from the to be for all.
What is of the realizations from the day’s count,
The rehabilitation of promises designed to lure through attention,
The today in half term that we still be non-committal and undeterred,
The blockbusting through town classed and egoed,
For them twos and threes inked in greed.
What is the word for tomorrow’s count,
Ghosting through all for the non-assertion of terms following,
The rejections of appointments through creeds and cultures.
For this level of leverage and compensation,
In brotherhood to parties different,
Haha’d by two and threes,
For same woes,
Bad leaders.
Poem by Hudhaifah Siyad Mohamed
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