I should have grinned when morning came
Atop posts of gaping day, with lunatics
Humming dirges of a broken world.
I remained glued to my gloom.
Rising from the pit of hell, I held
Concupiscent cats hostage.
The course of their waning speed of flight
Harmed my precisions.
From a boanerges' point of view,
Fierce elocution dampened by grey voids of
Unassailable haunts cripple the badinage of
Myths celebrated at dawn's memorial.
I weep through the voice of an alcove's
Muted spirit, one grace, forlorn and dew-wet,
Re-christened at sable-draped ceremonies.
Haunted by such recurring whims of deliberate
Schisms by harridans, I crawl on both knees,
Filching webs atop crests of arachnids.
I should have waved siesta's flag at 3 P.M.
Lush vagaries of new-sprouted greens yield to the
Mockery of phlogiston,
Leaving behind banters from drunken laughters,
Crackles from prostituting fires, meek and ailing,
And hells of sweat from my aching head.
Categories:
precisions, introspection, solitude,
Form: Free verse
Once in old Persia a Carpet maker,
was known for his unique craft caretaker.
Precisions in velvet landscape,
colors that invite the eye to escape.
Finest stitches that embrace,
artistic craft to everyone’s surprise.
The Carpet master in its poetic sense,
created little flaws as suspense.
Messages in symbolic texture,
to give the art a sense of lecture.
Artistic phenomena observed to see,
for what some ‘seems’, are not to be.
Perfection in the hand of the divine,
human flaws seduced to the same.
Goodness in the frame of trueness,
qualities beyond values that devote us.
The heart of human conspiracies awaken,
free will and circumstance not mistaken.
Phenomena of beauty to receive,
truth and its facts to believe.
Categories:
precisions, beautiful,
Form: Ballade
Life is a canvas. Does it make any sense?
Of course not but, its a beautiful mess you can reminisce.
If life were a pattern, a distinct coarse, a set road
there would be a well worn path underneath our feet.
Yet, I feel fresh, untouched, upturned soil between my toes.
Will my canvas be a beautiful masterpiece of awe inspiring revelations?
Will my canvas be a monster of a mess in plain, agonizing precisions?
Its up to my feet and where they lead me. My feet are led by my heart.
My heart pulls me towards the north, somewhere in the black, where the stars and moon part.
I know what I want my masterpiece to look like and hopefully it will be,
but if I died tomorrow what would you see?
Categories:
precisions, art, lifebeautiful, beautiful, life,
Form: Free verse
Which Came First?
The discourse has been argued many times before.
By kings, by peasants, and learned men galore…
By women, by children nearly started war!
One says, “It was the chicken, of course.” there's more.
From whence came the chicken? Will you please explain?
From the egg… It started with an egg. What a bore!
It is not very simple, to explain it plain.
But imagination and a prayerful soul…
Upon hearing this news could surely sustain.
Day 3 and Day 5 is when genes came alive!
Protected in caplets ‘til on earth beget.
Encased by the thousands each species should survive.
How did He do it? Scientists, study that!
He did NOT do it with a magical hat!
Wisdom's precisions, God created and formed.
Which came first, chicken or the egg? Tell me, you.
Believe me or not; I believe this is true.
‘Twas genes in a caplet where first chickens grew...
I think this could be. Do you think so, too?
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 10, 2010
Categories:
precisions, animals, visionary
Form: Terza Rima