A man of blood, and gore and grief.' Maybe a puppet.? Certainly a thief.' With minions of dark demonic spawn, no hint of compassion, suchlike would have plaited
The thorns, in that crown of horror, with malice and brawn, lovers of bribery and power of lies, upon a relief
flotilla they've just metastacized.' High on drugs.? On hate and
Pain..The regurgitation of victimhood, is
More than plain.' They'll have a celebration
Right at gommorha its all so strange' ultra liberal values.' And many letters, as they lecture the world on how they
are so; its betters.? Just again and again..In a morbid
Refrian
Maybe because most countries; are
merely now debtors.?
a line starts to crawl
bending between its endpoints—
alive on the page
the line learns to walk
loops like a caterpillar—
dragging wiggly tail
a trembling string line
resonates in space and time—
a violin sings
the line curves around
back on itself, head to tail—
a merry-go-round
ink line creeps forward
curling into cursive forms
signing its own name
tears form rivulets
gravity pulls water down—
meandering flow
three or four thin lines
entwine into plaited braid—
motion becoming
crawling on all fours
the line takes a mountain walk—
tracing the contours
a wandering stroke
like an oar that doubts the sea—
encircles meaning
the line unravels
to its ragged, riffraff core—
threadbare its heartless
defined as taut straight
the shortest way between points—
wayward wriggles room
a line drifts outward
then returns, as if it knew—
all paths bend inward
the line comes to rest
where it first began to crawl—
nothing left to scrawl
Fly shadow fly
seeking another apple on outskirts of stages
I will not move unanswered
Powerful
is my name
Shadow flies whimpering
hosting another cloud filled with longing rhythms
an audience seeking crystal droplets
Showering
like young poets
Seeking another apple
pear found instead, the bite poor verse
whisper into tangled plaited hair
Paperwork
to translate longing
Outskirts of stages
I did not move upon a shore
there lies my reddened core
Shivering
a no return
Search no longing
sigma waves seek to moisten dry throat
they float only my apple
Exposure
for your tongue
__________________________
[ Poet’s Notes : Eliska Form :
5 lines in each Stanza
3 / 7 / 5 / 1 / 3 words per line.
Line 4 constraint:
3 or more syllables ]
Honourable Mention :
All Poetry Contest
March 26
A couple builds a home upon positive thoughts,
Thoughts plaited soft in assumed structures,
Structures of forever, of love’s warm talent,
Talent currently wrecked, torn apart.
Apart the couple drifts, unmoored, invisible,
Invisible the discomfort where love had been,
Been muffled now, this universe we fill,
Fill with stillness, cold and motionless.
Motionless the couple turns into memory’s ash,
Ash that glows then turns to trash,
Trash of promises and once-shared egotism,
Egotism now vanished, on either side.
Side by side, the couple used to stand,
Stand as one, with hearts unmanned,
Unmanned now by what life cashes,
Dreams are dead; the couple buried dreams.
Poem by N. Mugisho
Free from cooking dinner and bathing kids
we've exchanged lipstick, off to jazzy jigs tried different costumes, with plaited wigs
let's wear false lashes attached to blue lids
we'll go for raw oysters, no-one forbids
then hurry to club where cool drummer skids
girls will sing in deep voices startling digs
nonchalant will we be, dismantling grids
Black Magic Women, nobody's spare ribs !
no movie exists in THE NOW
if it did it would not be
no movement exists in the moment
if it would, the moment would be a second
no breath exists in the space
if it did the jagged line
between Life and Death would be no more
eternal IS here ~ for us to catch stardust
intending falling filtering flying halting pausing
joy remains a space-time tail of a
coil where it disappears as
we lay eyes on its slithering point escaped
a longed for romance with Divinity
when waters break down plughole
gone are sequins we sewed and hair
plaited with pearls
s p a c e b e c o m e s a c e
n o n e e d t o r a c e
TIMELINES exists s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
•••
In my writes replies and poeming I often use a certain word
Therein..This word in truth 'is imput see.' Not sanctioned in
The current dictionary.? And yet the English langauge grand has
Been the work of tounge and hands, one of which is Saxon
West..Or Germanic..? If I pass the test? And 'im' within
Germanic tounge 'is the same as in.' Thats where I'm coming from , so from a plaited and interwoven vocabulary
Not formerly chosen.. Nor of standard till Alfreds day would be' he
An Saxon Anglo btw..I find two words are the same to use
In-put or Im-put to my peruse.'
"We gave the future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in the present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams." - Edgar Allan Poe
Like plaited braids our lives entwine,
yet such a fragile web we weave.
The busy dizzy looms of life
whose lovely woven linen lies
are wet with tears on wrinkled wishes,
and lips amiss from kissing shuttles.
Emotions cross and interlace -
pricked fingers bleed - awake! a dream?
Yet still, of life - is much the same,
where treadles endless treading toils...
a cloud bursts
the dyke breaks
again
plaited weeds
stream forth
'neath the spate
Filigree
Celtic Filigree
Graceful filigree unbroken
Weaves a tracery
With strands entwined
Like a whisper from the misty isles
Woven into whorls of melodic unity,
Indivisible spirals of the eternal three,
Thin harp strings of crisscrossed swirls
Weaving lyric filigree
Delicate fine threads elaborate
Earth, water, fire in legends
Of scholar saints and mystics –
Erin’s braided shield
Two hearts intertwined into infinity
As a king’s wisdom brings a benediction
Of enduring life
That reaches back into the dusty kells
Of rosettes in oak roots interlinked
Plaited knotwork - no beginning and no end -
Echoes eons of captured grace
In continuous mystical contours
2-14-23
Contest: Writing Challenge – F Words
Sponsor: Constance La France
There are several well-known Celtic knots including Knotwork, The Trinity Knot, the Dara Knot, Solomon’s Knot and the Love Knot.
One of the meanings of “kells” is cocoon or chrysalis
Home from School
A little stream by the village bridge.
Clear cold water over jagged stones
searched for pieces of china in the mud
as we meandered slowly home.
Once-treasured patterns and bits of bones and
a black eel,rolling wave,burrowing far.
We sucked sweet nectar from fuchsia flowers
on our way home from school
Sometimes on lazy summer days,
When the workmen were on the road,
We pressed our toes in black tar bubbles,
And an asphalt oily smell, followed us home
A robin's nest was a sacred find
purple foxglove,waving our fairy hands
a homemade doll,yellow plaited straw
treasures home from school
Off for milk to Twomey's farm,
huge cow-beasts, dirty, with leather-silk skin
in September our berry purple mouths
a juicy feast all the way home
One day in May, the shadowed oak -
the lovey-doveyness, it spoke.
Its foliage in zephyr rush.
of coquette prettiness; it’s blush.
Under God’s eye, unseen choir brings
a lofty cheeriness with wings,
a maypole merriment of tweets,
its honey biz of plaited beats.
"How sweet to the heart are the scenes of my childhood"
Samuel Woodworth, 1785-1842
With fond memories my heart embraces
childhood days of innocent impressions
and plush playmates with adoring faces
Dolls and tea sets were my prized possessions
Forming angels with friends in Winter's snow
and making silly facial expressions
I gathered wild flowers in the meadow
and plaited wreaths to wear in my long hair
Selling lemonade with my best friend, Jo.
In my younger days I didn't have a care
In make-up, pearls, and high heels, I was dressed
Ignoring Mom when she'd say, "Don't you dare!"
Affectionately, my fingers caressed
photos in scrapbooks of my early days
Years of my life when I was richly blessed
My vision is blurred by a teary haze
Recalling those years, today and always
November 25, 2020 ~ Terza Rima Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Rhyming verified on RhymeZone
Syllables verified on HowManySyllables
Grammar and Spelling verified on PS Grammar Checker
Thine Pauciloquent
Gadzooks, nudiustertion,
thy widdershins wound-up swingswung has taterd
and thee cannot ride ineseness culled sunset anymore,
buntincludes a valetudinarian spirit
lamprophony tippytoppidy drop-within-thee,
thy typhlotic orb's waves an ocean,
minding a polypropylene plaited empennage
cleft to its heinie,
I will xertz vioutful sunrise drink
for intoastkneewhip is thy jentacular
and bibulously skyrolary the twilight
with a tittynope star having misticality
meldrop a tinklingtwinkle
only to awakent anew zoanthropy.
2020 August 02
A stitching of parables,
a weaving of psalms
Whether ancient or modern,
the truth plaited long
The story we tell,
with one pattern beset
A patchwork of tailors
—whose needles profess
(Villanova Pennsylvania, December, 2019)
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