wild winds start to sigh
dancing leaves in hurried swirl
nature's ballet grand
golden leaves descend
whispering secrets to earth
a gentle farewell
sunlight, softer now
paints the world in amber hues
nature's final blush
geese fly overhead
a journey to distant lands
their calls mount to sky
pumpkins in the field
waiting for joyful harvest
sweetness from the soil
apples ripe and sweet
juice drips down the eager chin
taste of autumn's joy
longer shadows creep
as the day begins to wane
peace rests in the soul
scent of wood smoke drifts
carried on the crisping air
old memories stirred
misty mornings rise
veils of white across the land
quiet beauty seen
crisp air fills the lungs
a cleansing breath for the soul
preludes winter`s hold.
beyond
normality
far-away
looks
of contemplation
wayward
innocent
embodiments
in
subliminal
motifs
of
passive
consciousness
&
perception
illumed
insights
faculties
aberration
of awareness
in
authentic
transcription
the
inconceivable
inhibited
attuned
to
sensibility
within
inchoate
contingent
stimuli
individual
thresholds
inseparable
preludes
drift
&
circulate
in
a repertoire
of
shadowed
silence
instantaneous
&cumulative
visuals
implied
choices
simple
useful
yet
mysterious
sensations
illustrated
preludes
to
fascinate
emotions
expressions
intensify
to
transform
imagings
a
strange
but creative
process
so
pertinent
a
rembrance
grafted
to
a common
starting point
accomplished
as
an efflorescent
measure
of
implicit
&pervasive
uncertainty
absorbed
expanded
& ingrained
Where lies the loneliness of the night?
Its dark shadow stirs beneath the eyes, the mind will float aimlessly in a dreamlike state.
Beyond the window pane hides the truth
Its howls and cries muted, the beast, where mares are formed, escapes its shackled lair.
Tossing and lashing, the nocturnal wanderer lusts after its next prey.
What malevolent force walks the street each night
whilst cotton shrouds the innocence of man.
Hours chime to dawn and with it the sanctuary of morning light.
The twilight preludes the backstory of our fears that manifest to a nocturnal cycle of twists and turns wrapped in a sweated sheet. We are the authors but typecast as the protagonist of the weak, narrating each chapter from our subconscious pool where the last page is torn from the spine and the end never comes.
We rise, battered and bruised, pieces of us lie scattered about the bedroom floor. We try to remember, we try to forget in equal measure the scenes of our play for today. The cast slowly walks away, stage right to dust, and we carry on.
PONDERING LABORING DAYS AHEAD
In the laboring days ahead,
Dawning with continuous trials,
And subsequent tribulations,
Let’s not be like sheep
In a slaughtering pen;
Rather, let’s be as lambs
In the garden of God:-
Armed with faith and hope,
And God’s divine guidance,
Let us, as the Psalms remind us,
Journey onwards to overcoming:
“Defending truth, humility, and justice”:-
For indeed, our God is a God of justice;
Justice indeed, being, “His royal scepter.”
Thus, as Summer is waning,
And leave falling Fall preludes
The vicious coming of Winter,
Let us realize resurrecting Spring
Will likewise return with healing grace:-
Thus, let us continue in our resurrecting
Labors of love, sowing reaping justice:-
TO DREAMING DREAMS OF REALITIES
Why, only in dreams do we become entirely free
From the gloom and doom of our present melee?
Why, in dreams only, do we become entirely free,
Flying high in the sky, free as we always wanted to be?
Why can’t I dream dreams of visions I can mold
Into dreams of realities, fulfilling missions of dreams?
If dreams are preludes of things to come, then let me
Dream dreams of liberty dreaming back to me, in reality:-
Here, wide awake among hopeful thoughts of life,
Let me mold my sweet dreams into my life's reality.
“What is Past is Prologue.”
The Tempest.
It's the young ghosts that
haunt us most.
A vison of my 6-year-old self,
looking up from a basement window
at the gray pavement above my head.
It scared me then and still does.
One dead-eyed day in a wintery city
I saw a man without a coat
crouched and shivering,
the coat that he did not wear that day
I wore at that time.
The more I looked, the more I understood.
Such younger ghosts are spectral preludes,
phantoms of our psyche,
sealed into a setting, just large enough
for them to relive forever
a one-act play
of our soul-etched moments.
While crimson dawn orchestrated the sky,
Birds spread sweet notes at morning breeze’s rides;
As sunrise calmly croons with smile on high,
Rays kiss us tenderly with warmest glides.
Clouds tunes magically in peaceful tones,
Tree branches smooch the light in windpipe song;
Mountains and hills stand tall in rhythmic thrones,
As garden flowers sway with leaves along.
Dew drops mingle with strings of golden shafts,
Buzzing crowd preludes its rise in towns;
Chats and laughter are crescendos of wafts,
Sun’s sonata plays for our graces’ crowns.
Rejoice with daily sunrise symphony,
To make our day light, stress free and happy.
Hummingbird’s playing
in the background,
The Page
plays the blues,
interludes,
fingers touching the
sensual key notes
scent openings
in the mind
reeling
in the horizontal lines
along morning bodies
now glistening, the
dark nights aligned,
The Page
plays the blues,
Hummingbird’s playing
in the background
those heavy Prison Blues
absent black holes
now universes away,
A Page
of falling
angels' feathers,
plucking the strings
pressing points slowly
in from the cold
warm air tracing
curves
in the winding road
whispered along smooth
racing executions
erogenous pleasures
shifting gears upwards
No 4 Preludes
undressing Chopin
in another way,
Hummingbird’s playing
in the background
slow dancing
french kissing
seducing
interludes
A Page
of falling
angels' feathers
strings softly plucked
come undone
Emerald Eyes
measuring
the blues
No 4 Preludes
undressing Chopin
in another way
The Preludes
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Chopin No 4 Preludes (Chopin), Jimmy Page
Hummingbird, Jimmy Page
Emerald Eyes, Jimmy Page
Prison Blues, Jimmy Page
the avant-garde
eccentric & peculiar
gnossienne at gymonpedie
of the pregnant pause.
stark…simple
without pretence…
sounds…
..then…silence.
measuring
moments
.frozen pieces
In
the
particular In
The
wonder
revolvea
in
all directions…
a
prolongment
of self…
limp..lonely..lost….then
instantaneous….
picturesque preludes…
I open my mind,
notice..
& respond
Porcelain keys create
Passionate sonatas
Pitched in dulcet notes through
Prewritten preludes that
Piercingly vibrate when
Pianists softly press
Pedals to enhance tunes
Kiss by the Passing Breeze of Awakening
Dust of divine whimsy
Flutters softly on unconscious cheeks
With ephemeral dawning
Fleeting like the flash of silver sandals
In moonlight - here then hidden -
Stepping out of the opaque
Soul stirring from oblivious daydreams
Stepping into moments of classical
Lavender-rose moments.
The leaven of breezes in stardust essence
Flares in lambent clarity
Caches of chimera, that drain the heartbeat,
Shrivel in bursts of cheeky shooting stars.
Aroused from the depths of sleepwalking,
Grace notes float on rose scents
Harvested in potpourris for strangled screams
Scrambling through midnight fogs,
Sentience revisits in soft swirls
Awareness, roused by reveille,
Stirs caressed codas in soft preludes,
Awakes in fresh mindful raptures
Nurtured by a passing angel kiss.
Alone for a moment
measuring
sound
Frozen pieces
in a
particular way
to wonder
about
myself
To relax for hours
as in
a childish dream
and revolve
in
all directions
this prolongment
of self
limp..lonely..lost….
then
instantaneous
three pieces in form
with picturesque preludes
I open my mind
notice
&respond
When I look at the night sky
I find worlds of mystery
and a feeling of great pleasure
where incantations flow in my soul
from the blissful sorcery of imagination
pouring in my head
as the universe becomes a singular focus
of perpetual thought
drifting like tendrils of seductiveness
across the vast black sky
filled with galaxies throughout eternity
where dreamers can dream
and wishes are preludes
to the creative thoughts
etched in the mind
by the wondrous eyes of the artist
who stands in contemplation
like a star in a universe of stars...enchanted
2/11/23
contest Writing Challenge-E words
sponsor Constance La France
"Enchanted"
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