For the scant time to commune with my Muse
and from my mind some long-harbored thoughts free
In strings of words I hope would pass for verse--
this time, this chance, fills up my heart with glee.
Yet often when I have scarcely begun
to pen some notions about the world’s sores,
I rue that I can’t help but to purloin
some hours from work and domestic chores.
Ah, to write, to compose without much care
while in full possession of place and time--
What joy I’d feel when I am unshackled thus
to focus on constructing better rhyme.
Relying on thought as a crutch,
insentient to bliss beat’s touch,
no wonder we feel incomplete,
so perhaps it’s time to declutch.
Instinct driven patterns repeat,
without feeling magnetic heat,
as grace of God, divine sublime,
birthing bliss that does not deplete.
If Jacob’s ladder we would climb,
poised in silence, marking not time,
as pure awareness self-aware,
our presence conjures a love rhyme.
Melding head with heart, as they pair,
save joy, we’ve nothing to declare,
mind rests and with no dots to join,
cravings of ego we outstare.
Soul and God, as they so conjoin,
wisdom of sages we purloin,
that in this dream life, it’s a fact,
all are one, sides of the same coin.
Forging with love and light a pact,
the God code is by us thus hacked,
that as we so metamorphose,
attachments held onto retract.
Breath by breath bliss radiance grows,
more so when we are in repose,
brightening glow of our aura,
which exudes fragrance of love’s rose.
Aster of September, summer wanes.
The shining sky of dusk is drenched in splendor.
Tremulously, I watch shadows that arrive.
Too soon, they purloin sun’s last rays.
Aster of September, Virgo aches.
You bloom till your breath is snatched away.
An oyster felt an uncomfortable itch
Caused by a stinging sand grain.
Ten fathoms deep, he slowly made - a pearl,
So that he was free from pain.
A tenacious Japanese ama, dove,
This mermaid beauty 'neath the tide,
Unbreakable, with just a knife and grit -
A pearl - she deftly pried.
A dream of a lovely fair-skinned lady,
Perfect shoulders, flawless skin -
A pearl - to hang between the snowy orbs,
Below her graceful chin.
A plan, a desperate man, a revolver,
Its handle made from - a pearl -
He'd purloin a huge oyster's record yield,
But that's not how his scheme would unfurl.
An oyster turns lemons to lemonade.
Conversely, a man, instead,
Takes that wise and appropriate adage
And flips it on its head.
Were I to swim to the edge of the sea,
what splendid scene should await for me?
Would I behold the legendary town
with glittering brick roads and king’s famed crown?
Could I uncover the truth in the seed,
win a place in the king’s absolute creed?
Anoint my body, in sticky sap drown,
paddle to Guatavita and dive down.
Arise from the waters clean as a bead,
to the fest of El Dorado I’d lead.
No other exists so gilded, hands down,
an existence of gold — building and gown.
I’d join with the Muiscan folk, indeed
take up residence and full life proceed
to build again a foundation so sound
that none could purloin the gold around.
World befallen by avarice and greed,
best forgotten I hardily accede.
To such golden place without up or down
I’d ever exist in paradise found.
Maybe its not too late to learn how to love and forget how to hate;
Quote by: Ozzy Ozbourne
Two sides of the same coin
one hinders you and has no livable value
the other is something you cannot purloin
I'm not a real poet
just as Pinocchio wasn't a real boy
but for our hearts and faith
we live life in full awareness coy
a revelation of ourselves in bold deploy;
with this arsenal of dreams and hopes
we yield a rendition beyond simple idea copes,
and we merge and blend inner secret expression
of who we truly are within our own egressions
living on the edge of time and space intervention;
so let us have our dreams
mindful enterprise and thriving schemes
as we purloin the words and phrases
pretending we contain the wisdom of the sages
in a sequence of interactive rhyme assuages;
so here it lay,
a poetic urge openly on display
that poetry lives in each and every one of us,
it's just a question of appreciation and trust
in the wordings that we say.
The snow is tumbling
tumbling down
descending humbly
upon the ground
frozen dandelions
herald the day
purloin my thoughts
along the way
silent soldiers
marching on
proclaim the coming
of the dawn
they dash and
dance and flit
and flow
a serene scene
this winter show.
(click the pic for a preview of my upcoming book!)
Slinking silently through the night
on tiny tipped toes, claws withdrawn.
He mustn’t sleep until daylight’s dawn,
prudently prowls, avoiding light.
Clever, cunning crones craft a spell
to purloin his priceless powers,
control them in Eve’s evil hours,
condemn powerless prey to Hell.
Hither, fine ferocious feline.
Soulfully sing your sacred song.
Whiskers hoary, lavishly long
subtle signs of ancient bloodline.
He will not succumb to witches
who wish to control, to command.
Here he makes a substantive stand
to thwart wicked witches’ wishes.
Cruel claws render stinging slashes
slitting through wrinkled, withered skin.
They shrilly shriek their dying din,
melting ghoulish, gray-green ashes.
Objective, Subjective,
which side of the coin
Will the story end up on,
its truth to purloin
“Dimensional borders”
the physicists scream
As life’s hidden fantasia
—plays out in a dream
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2019)
I have picked up a scent, something's been killed
And I can hear my feline foes growling still
I trot off to the scene with bloodthirsty zeal
Hoping to purloin a fresh meal
At the scene, four lionesses are having a feast
On the flesh of a hapless wildebeest
Others from my clan are gathering now
Laughing like crazy and ready to chow
The felines are not ready to give up their kill
A battle ensues and more blood is spilled
The lionesses have no choice but to flee
My laughter is chilling and filled with glee
Then I settle down to enjoy the feast
Having no concerns in the least
But two lions are charging in to settle the score
My bones rattle at the sound of their roar!
7-1-19
Pick a Title, Volume 6, Personification Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chose: The Hyena
Innocence lost,
virgin hearts often get paved over
by oppression gravel pressure
Hardened thoughts laid cover the privileged lily eyes,
and the tulip pupils of those in poverty
Unjust limestone mixture is hereditary poured
into chromatic fields of vexation
Pretty flowers of childhood purity
rarely get the adolescent chance to maturity see
the petal blossoming of their rainbow dreams
Buried under hateful concrete, their survival stem
still did with tender ease lovingly rose
Asphalt desires ugly ... Purloin dotted lines
couldn’t smother their unmarred souls
Beautiful flowers always will grow
between the stony cracks in the concrete
Pollen truth blown make it cement so,
even as the tilted mortar ground hardens more
My gentle sphere, fitted more, still.... I spared
Spattered words of heart, yet! Not purloin
Bit by bit are words of him, slowly cared
His circumspect steps I look, always in cocoon
Be like a Mickey not to add to your meek
Being sportive and an erect stamen, could you be?
Hand creativity and thinking, would you keen?
Pals and swarms indeed, are there to feed
Classy swell of your cheek, glassy bite is seen
Shy! Hands rub on his chin, even without no need.
I know a hush-hush, your finger up to scratch the head,
A cool gentle sphere you are, that's the world I learn.
An island of memory forms in the
vast oblivion.
Emotions froth with warmth. Minds
are connected
through the broadband of nostalgia.
An everlasting
get-together of old classmates. They
wage war against
vices. They sob over sorrows that are
not theirs. Pics
of triumph get applause, while envy’s
horn protrudes
from a pit. Origin of congratulations
and consolations
is from the same key. Some purloin
from philosophy.
One buddy’s a marauder of wits. This
WhatsApp group is
a life jacket to escape from drowning
in ennui.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet.
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