The splendor of books enthralled me early in life,
being attracted by the weird animations imprinted in them.
The nascent imagination of the five-year old
morphed within me as an exploring book worm.
I grew up with other timely interests in the transit,
many passing passions came and went,
but looking for mystery the childhood book worm grew
as a constant companion creeping secretively in my head.
The lure of books attracted me to the bookstores
like an obsessed honey bee to the posy of flowers.
I enjoyed the flavor of the mystifying nectar,
concealed in the suspense scripted by Doyle or Christie.
In my journey through the corridors of unveiling mystery,
created by Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot,
I took up their roles till I reached the precinct of the last pages
where the ace sleuths solved the enigmatic puzzles.
Although my old myopic eyes degenerated very much,
the strain over the years made the failing vision blurred,
the senile book worm still crawls to find the mystery clues,
letting me feel the power of fiction.
The tapestry of the indigo sky,
weaved with lattice of silver cloud,
merges with the still sea in the blues.
The dislodged boulders of cognitive debris
strewn away from the waterfront of desire,
the broken dreams epitomized.
The anchorless empty boat
drifts away from the shore of longing,
harboured by desolation,
lodged lonesome in the sanctuary
of the rocky ledge of fortitude.
In the ruins of my splintered heart,
I listen to the voice of the anguished soul,
the mutilated construct of recluse precinct,
encasing the stifling loneliness of poignant prison
where the psyche languishes relentless
within invincible travail,
negating the hope perspective
in the clutch of mental affliction.
The cauldron of dissonance,
remote from the rhythm of life,
its void filled with drops of depression in adagio.
My dormant desires are demolished,
the malleable mind yields to nostalgic purport,
melancholy swathes the remnant yearning.
Inspired by Melancholy, Edvard Munch.
Wind
whistles
tempting tune,
on air-swept wings
beguiled birds soar high
to seamless sapphire sky
with the fleet of cotton clouds,
design changing silk shapes adrift.
Art shifts on curved canvas of cobalt,
flows as a freedom form with rhythmic joy.
I’m swept by rapture wave surge of nature,
swaying me on swells of solitude,
resounds the music of silence
in pristine precinct of peace
that suffuses my soul.
Lured by topaz sky,
my mind adorns
jewels of
divine
joy.
Wind
whistles
tempting tune,
on air-swept wings
beguiled birds soar high
to seamless sapphire sky
with the fleet of cotton clouds,
design changing silk shapes adrift.
Art shifts on curved canvas of cobalt,
flows as a freedom form with rhythmic joy.
I’m swept by rapture wave surge of nature,
swaying me on swells of solitude,
resounds the music of silence
in pristine precinct of peace
that suffuses my soul.
Lured, I look at sky,
my mind adorns
jewels of
divine
joy.
Wind
whistles
tempting tune,
on air-swept wings
beguiled birds soar high
to seamless sapphire sky
with the fleet of cotton clouds,
design changing silk shapes adrift.
Art shifts on curved canvas of cobalt,
flows as a freedom form with rhythmic joy.
I’m swept by rapture wave surge of nature,
swaying me on swells of solitude,
resounds the music of silence
in pristine precinct of peace
that suffuses my soul.
Lured, I look at sky,
my mind adorns
jewels of
divine
bliss.
"Album Daylight by Jonathan Patterson" - Quote by Poet
In the precinct of sprawling emptiness,
curved out by the contours of desolation,
the spreading daylight of prime promise
bursts with the brilliance of magnificence,
creating the serrated shadows of silence,
where I'm consumed by illumined calmness.
Within the light and shadow lattice,
the fused sunray strands weave
the tapestry of argentine ecstasy
on the silvery barrenness of seclusion
for me to walk in search of the lost dreams.
Trudging with the forlorn life
across the shades of grey in the wilderness,
I take a lonesome journey with my pallid heart
across the silhouetted grandeur
of the daylight dwindling.
Walking the last mile of the journey
in the remaining hours of the day,
I long for respite for the last time,
step into the waiting memory corridor,
see my dreams return enwrapped
within the lengthening shadow of me.
Evil Thug
Precinct Photo Mug
Money demise
Sophisticated surprise
Business Enterprise
Controlling the streets
Cinderfella Number One and can’t beat
Capturing women’s hearts
Sweet talking in the start
Kingpin game
Cinderfella with the name
Communities all realize
Don’t look Cinderfella in the eyes
He has his own security
Muscular Men to protect
Strength bringing the effect
Cinderfella in a class by himself
There’s no room for anybody else
Cinderfella the king
Gangster thing
I'm wearing the blue,
yes, proudly, and don't prejudge me
and I won't prejudge you.
Some nights I sleep swirling in
nightmares,
seeing the blood of victims, and
I still very much care.
I grope for the lamp on my nightstand,
my headache becomes a tight band,
my wife awakened, softly talks me down,
I would love to leave this "toddlin' town."
Brother, sister police officers agree,
that our job puts a strain on our families,
I come home from tragedies such as
gun violence, child abuse, accidents,
robberies,
yet, I'm accused of being
cold and unfeeling,
when the hurt closes in and is
joy stealing.
Yes, I wear the blue,
my life, my heart is of rescue,
take a ride with me to see,
some of the human acrimony,
Yet, at the precinct it's comforting to receive,
flowers and cookies from some caring
people reaching out,
that's what gratitude is about,
it helps after long hours,
and when some distressed strangers
say, "Thank you for responding to my call,"
it can, at times-
relieve me from the pall.
We need to be more understood,
we need more cooperation from the
neighborhoods,
after all, it's for all our good. ~
Wind
whistles,
ripples air,
on wind-swept wings
beguiled birds soar high
in seamless sapphire sky
with the fleet of cotton cloud,
designs changing silk shapes adrift.
Art shifts on curved canvas of cobalt,
flows as form of freedom with rhythmic joy.
I’m swept by rapture wave surge of nature,
swaying me on swells of solitude,
resounds the music of silence
in pristine precinct of peace
that suffuses my soul.
Lured, I look at sky,
my mind adorns
jewels of
divine
bliss.
The tapestry of the indigo sky,
weaved with lattice of silver cloud,
merges with the still sea in the blues.
The dislodged boulders of cognitive debris
strewn away from the waterfront of desire,
the broken dreams epitomized.
The anchorless empty boat
drifts away from the shore of longing,
harboured by desolation,
lodged lonesome in the sanctuary
of the rocky ledge of fortitude.
In the ruins of my splintered heart,
I listen to the voice of the anguished soul,
the mutilated construct of recluse precinct,
encasing the stifling loneliness of poignant prison
where the psyche languishes relentless
with invincible anguish,
negating the hope perspective
in the clutch of mental affliction.
The cauldron of dissonance,
remote from the rhythm of life,
its void filled with drops of depression in adagio.
My dormant desires are demolished,
the malleable mind yields to nostalgic purport,
melancholy swathes the remnant yearning.
Inspired by Melancholy, Edvard Munch.
Both enchanting and beautiful you are, my Juliet Rose
sitting in a rose meadow you never decompose
With exceptional health and vigor you bloom in rare
you really are quite exuberant, you really do have flare
You are a full cupped rose with petals of distinct
an apricot jewel from my garden's precinct
Fifteen years of labor it took to produce an English Rose,
you touch and resonate the heart strings, and it shows
You live in a rose meadow perfuming all the air
I've never met another with such gentle care
both enchanting and beautiful, you are my special Rose
inside this Sanctuary, it is here that you repose.
May 13, 2023
Mutilated mind constructs the precinct of recluse
Encasing the stifling loneliness of sad prison
Languishes there the surrendered psyche.
Agony unsurmountable relentlessly
Negates the positive perspective of hope
Cauldron of dissonance remote from the rhythm of the outside
Hollowness inside filled with drops of depression in adagio
Obdurately prolonged as untiring mental affliction.
Latent desires are demolished and the malleable mind
Yields to nostalgia, the melancholic remnant of yearning.
___________
(I chose to use Acrostic form to dissect melancholy to
discern its anatomy)
May 9, 2023
Contest : Anatomy Of Melancholy
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
"Edified mind lights life in darkness, senses divine grace
in soul suffused with bliss" - By Poet
The compulsive free will ostensibly latent,
envelopes my mind with transient shroud,
obscures the ordained pathway God makes,
l need to travel for it’s designed for me.
The invisible glow of the omnipresent radiance
wraps my obsessed essence, but I don’t discern,
for I formulate life’s self-centric false image
in the fabricated domain of self-deception.
Out of the dark abyss of despair,
in inward journey through layers of awareness,
my soul perceives the gleam of divine beacon,
lighting up the path to the precinct of bliss.
After the aberrant exploits the errant mind
finds the dismal trail of vice illumined,
the secret door opens to the inner sanctum,
where conscience glitters in heavenly light.
When the notion of being becomes devout purpose,
the soul shines with spiritual sheen,
then in self-searching endless endeavor,
I perceive godly grace in the realm of divinity.
_____________
February 8, 2023
Theme chosen : Divinity
Contest : Writing Challenge - D Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Across the wandering life’s changing dynamic landscape,
the tortuous highway through the undulating topography
winded with the wheel of time to hazy future taking shape,
I was to traverse following the unseen footprints of destiny.
Many streams in spate I had swam across in somber squall,
buds of nascent hope clutched close to heart lest they sink.
Chasing butterflies in the verdant valley’s blooming sprawl,
my dreams flying through rainbow archway found precinct.
Drifting with the rhythm of the whistling wind in the forest,
radiant rays from the sunburst sky wrapped me with ecstasy.
Navigating wasteland path at night I found your arms to rest,
at dawn in my meadow the glow of love on dew I could see.
The senile sun sinking at the edge of twilight leaves me alone,
at the life’s travelled highway I look back content for a while.
In the journey to the final abode beyond the horizon unknown,
I don’t count the remaining footsteps while walking the last mile.
_______________
January 24, 2023
Title chosen : Navigating Through Life's Highway
Contest : Pick-A-Title Vol. 34
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh
An exaggerated style, the zoot suit
was a statement in clothes.
Yet it fell into ill repute,
history shows.
Outlandishly flamboyant and distinct:
comedy was its roots.
Clothes came from the Harlem precinct:
called culture suits.
With their wide lapels and baggy trousers:
they were ostentatious.
And favored by rabble-rousers;
loose and spacious.
Worn by African-American youth
and poor Mexican teens.
They looked rebellious and uncouth;
much more than jeans.
Oft accessorized with a gold key chain:
and a fedora hat.
Frisco sailors showed their disdain;
armed with a bat.
More about color than flashy fashion:
racial riots broke out.
All those beat without compassion:
left little doubt.
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