Drifting
on a vast ocean
emerald spangled
calling to celestial plains
of the lost citadel
where forgotten tribes
communed in radiant silence
and telepathed secrets
beyond the mortal prophesies
of sages.
Biblical prophesies have been written on strolls
And also other wise words so vivid and bold
Like, we spend our years as a tale that is told
We talk, toy, and toil until we are old
We are advised to give attention to our souls
And be concerned where it goes when the bell tolls
Perhaps the 'End of Days' will be like tomorrow,
a thing we have counted upon,
however,
it may arrive later than we thought,
not our fault really,
prophesies have their own timescale.
If that 'tomorrow' arrives, and it looks like hell,
then we might as well
sleep late,
and if there is still time,
paint the bedroom ceiling
with many a hastily applied
hallelujah.
Creation is something that many have embarked to acheive
My belief is to get out of the way of trying to create while rolling up my sleeve
The next step truly has its own journey, distance yourself from thinking too deep
A great idea or creation could end up as a technique too steep
It looks amazing once I eject myself out of the anomaly's plan
Where do these ideas come from? could it be my mood or my hand
A trust needs to appear for it is all that works in a moment of creation
It will happen once all the elements bind together when it comes into fruition
I'm proud to call myself an artist with multitudes of talents
Whether I'm sad, depressed or just joyfully absent
Infusing tricks that remain tacky or cheesy has no place in my arsenal
Or should I just be and allow without a mehtod that's enforceable
Creation is the process of channelling a wave of discoveries
Marked in crystal birthing of artistic prophesies
They already exist in disjointed pieces
My job is to unearth them and assemble the
Art.
Whoever the evil one prophesies skillfully, greatly dehumanizes
Stars form patterns to Ancient's Zodiac.
Creatures emerge, especially the snake.
Mayan watchers see the serpent go back,
Back into the earth at Equinox break.
What portends, only prophesies can make.
Past the temple is Astronomer's dome.
There prophets see futures where the stars roam.
If we believe in free will,
Why then do we believe that all prophesies must come true,
Might some prophesies actually be warnings,
We have not heeded, in time to prevent many more mourning's.
Something to think about,
Before we shout,
Kill, kill, kill,
Leaving us all,
With a bill,
That will make us ill, ill ill.
The truth will be revealed when we wish to see it
How can we ignore what once was prophesied
Even of events are still to be fulfilled in the future
Christmas birth is now commercialised as in past
How the temple was so full of unclean offerings
Remember that it is the death of this child, which
Is of significance for this what's the prophesies
Salvation promised because of Christ's sacrifice
The manger and the tomb, which are now empty
Messiah prophecy is now fulfilled, so will the end
Are you prepared for the true Bi millennium soon
So, seeking this perfect gift is freely given to all
God incarnate through a child who was promised
In fullness is the reconciliation between us both
For through Christ's sacrifice, we're fully accepted
The future it's known we can not change this ever
He was a body in flames,
like all that walk, fly or crawl
his body was a hive
for both death and life.
His skull was ancient
the bone of it, was a small hill
at the root of the Himalayas.
The child was conceived
under a broken wing,
one created by the tainted purity
of all damning prophesies.
The child was taken
to a sanctuary city,
a place where imagination
was mummified,
a place where heaven
was stored in clay jars.
His lamp was lit, yet it did not burn,
flame took his flesh
until he could be seen by the blind.
Homeless he was,
yet he sheltered from the elements
becoming them, acknowledging
the truth of them.
No person can live longer
than his last memory -
he did,
that is why we light candles
in honor of his continued arrival
in every womb.
The 6th and 9th have come and gone though none have taken note
that faraway, on those two days, an instant blazing blast
had vaporized morality. A bygone anecdote?
It seems such tales are best forgot and buried in the past.
But nonetheless, one must confess, the odds are highest now
that might and means have globalized the final battle field,
such that the victors also lose and perish anyhow.
The rulers in their zeal decide these facts be best concealed.
The warriors bit by bit rearm, their foes to nullify,
with strategies for victories where winners will prevail,
rejecting thoughts of compromise (though nukes are standing by!).
Yet still its grimly obvious that all will finally fail.
Beware you wide-eyed simpletons that follow, with the herd,
the drumbeat of the profiteers that draws us down this path
with prophesies of glory days and other things absurd.
Instead the skies above will burn, the only aftermath.
Prophesies by seers may be derided and prophets may be lampooned. But time may prove them right" By Poet.
There was none to listen to him.
His words were like:
-A cry in the wilderness
that broke and shattered on woody trunks.
-The howl of a lone wolf
that rose in the dead of the night.
-The cry of an infant
that told the world, it was hungry.
-The cacophony of discordant orchestra
that left a jarring effect on the listeners.
His words sounded meaningless,
to a world that spoke a different tongue.
With no receptacle, his words like heated waters
evanesced into vapour and billowed upwards,
like coils of smoke to freeze into clouds.
One day it rained down,
quite unexpected…….
with thunder and lightning!
promises and prophesies
are in timeless time fulfilled
in as they take time to manifest
after being created in the ethereal
all that that has been set into motion
is beheld by us in childlike surprise
although eye of wisdom knows
the manner of unfoldment
11-February-2023
Filled with Jesus-fascination
Pure poinsettia Plantation
Red, pink, white, salmon and yellow
Cover the fields like a rainbow...!
Sweet-peas like little butterflies,
Cute cosmic angels in disguise;
Perform ballet dance in cool breeze,
Make baby Jesus feel at ease...!
Does this blood-red calla lily
Blooming full at weather chilly
Prophesies his tests and passion
Symbols of divine compassion...?
Do these parrot tulip torch-balls
Sing of sanctity of our calls?
Setting our goals toward wholeness,
Journeying with him in closeness...!
These fresh camellias have stories -
Their mysteries and histories;
These as precious gifts they offer
At the foot of their true author...!
Anemones, Amaryllis,
Gardenia and gladiolus,
Each make this season auspicious,
Adores Him who is judicious...!!!
16 November 2022
November or December Quatrain Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
I’ve been here before in a
semblance of remembrance of
dutiful belongings for things
said, done, delivered, denied
truthed and lied——-glistening
in heart hopes of a rapturous
mind meld change to bliss
entities candid prophesies charged on a
Poised path to delightenment aplenty
Laughing inside I wiped my
Coffee rimmed lips
With my shirt sleeve
A cat drunk on cream
Finally at peace.
We all know
Days like these
Nothing matters
When nothing makes
Sense anymore
Questions don't always have
Answers. Sometimes we
Are faced with answers
We don't have questions for.
And then. You give up hogging
The control panels and let
Light touches on the joystick
Keep yourself from crashing
A little bit of free fall
Does wonders for the soul
Killing terror with terror.
Oh the safety net
If it exists
Is only our own minds
Bouncing back flexible
Trampoline.
The springy ground under
Our worn out soles.
So lick up the surreptitious cream
Upon the lips of life
Dream on
And share the dream
Laugh with pain
And pen the hurt
Till the quill is a surreal
Tool
And prophesies on its own,
Frenzied beautiful and devilish
Bold.
© Amrita Valan 2020
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