Stealthy and assured the jaguar lies in wait
With hungry eyes, it patiently sits and salivates
Hungering and waiting...
Calculating and preying
For that golden moment of truth
Heavy breaths speak of a desirous sooth
Breathing and scheming...
Focusing and believing
The beast with its intentional eyes never loses sight
Its target is fixed with no contingency plan, only pursuance with utter might
Others wait too as they wish, hope, and ponder
But only a beast knows of the beautiful hunger
Only the beast knows!
From High Point, he hailed
With his instrument, he had a story to tell.
Many pundits call him insane,
But for those who know, they simply call him Trane.
His claim to fame was riding the galactic ship of jazz,
Pushing the status quo and exploring with a whole lot of pizazz.
But his earnest desire was to get to know a Love Supreme.
Through Acknowledgement, Resolution, Pursuance, and Psalms, his soul was able to gleam.
Saint John, a quiet storm that blew with a serene veracity,
With Giant Steps, he walked through the world of jazz with a divine tenacity.
Apparently- adopted at birth, I
was timely told this when I turned twelve.
Though always adoring adoptive parents-
so oft turned thoughts to my mom's long-lost love.
My birth mother, most meaningfully would
rebuild roots and resolve rumors which I
diligently dismissed and dared dreamed false-
tried telling thoughts- she is genuinely good.
Youth yielded to adulthood; pursuance passed.
Then, one distinct day a caller came crashing
in my life; lost love loomed- luckily to be found!
My birth mom, brilliantly beaming- found me!
Lost love- now forever found! Puzzles perceived!
We soon connected, comingled, caught up.
The "why, when, where" my sacred start began;
the sharing, saying- from which womb I came.
So oft turned thoughts to my mom's long-lost love;
My birth mom, brilliantly beaming- found me!
I've had many heated conversations with . . . myself
over how a circumstance, or life itself, should be perceived.
My best time for self-probing is late at night.
Even now (in my sixties), I lean toward idealism.
Reality--not killjoy, but counselor--reminds me of
my boundaries. Opportunities to balance realism and
idealism have proven successful, warding off pessimism.
Pursuance of goals is still fueled by fire, but the flames
don’t leap so high as when I was young and vigorous.
Effective self-examination can be time-consuming
and painful, sometimes revealing that challenging
changes are required of me. These growing pains, even--
or perhaps especially—at my age, are necessary,
for life is not yet through with me.
I classify myself as the basically satisfied, often joyful
by-product of late-night contemplation.
March 9, 2021
entered in Craig Cornish's Contemplation Poetry Contest
There are lost people, scared of their mortality
They not being in-line with real reality
This is another part of fallen humanity
Let us walk out of this movie tragedy
For it is to come out of this absurdity
There should be the pursuance of love, life and liberty
Anything less would be as a walking zombie
Revive, and come out of this world’s conformity
Yes, do the right thing with little and or no apology
Yet, to speak out with all humble humility
Let us live our lives and write our own individual life story
Thus, the sum of life and all its totality
the words
spoke clear and were defined
in each and every different
sylaball.
trust me to never
love you
she said in the moments
she allowed him to see her
than my presence is wanted
might they agree to meet!
either in it's meaning,
or pursuance of direction
might the lesser confusion
of knowing make you less
eager to agree.
collaborate
to have him weirded
that all beneath heaven shall
hate him.
in his new light might
we reveal to a world
how foolish it is to love
that those who can conspire against you
might meet to
sober the wines
of celebration
those that knowest
might now be beyond the circle
that they may wonder
in the land
as merchants
of their own product
harvest the fruits of your labor
and sup upon the nourishment of this earth
that he that seekest your treasure
might find dessert
among your harvest
She Woke She Woke
She woke she woke at last
through thin curtain wove
light of dawn stretching stretching
stretching deep contented love
Sleep and sleep again
drifting warm lagoon of time
hazy beams of dusty light
kiss caress her waking mind
Cotton flowers of deep tsunami's
wave upon wave her duvet wrought
a kraken stirred and she smiled
time to leave she heard it's thought
A butterfly skims the cotton sea
no care at all for deaths pursuance
landing while with trembling limb
she eyes that lepidopteral nuisance
Oh come on kitty purred the kraken
summer days waits-not for we
lets butter toast and lap warm milk
admire our garden's sweet beauty
Vices guide in the pursuance of placement -
We want to need.
Aligned behind no sense of rhyme or reason;
False purpose leads.
Spending loaned moments on dire explanations -
Charge it to the dream.
Remember that day your spirit was broken?
Together we go.
I was in a tawdry bar,
Or public house,
Being threatened,
For something I'd done.
Darting furiously
Through city streets,
Running, running,
For something I'd done.
My companion hailed,
And stopped a bus,
Its metal doors flew open,
For something I'd done.
Had to get to them,
Had to get through them,
Under furious pursuance,
For something I'd done.
I got a fetish for neglecting things that I should cherish.
Once I realize its true value, those moments have already perished.
Who's at fault when our time becomes essence-less?
When we begin to question our coexistence.
How do we make each moment resemble something of elegance?
Time must be at our mercy because time is merciless.
Forgive my sins and all my sins that may become friends.
The time I have left only depends.
Many circumstances. Moments left up to chances.
I surrender to pessimistic thoughts on multiple occasions.
Only make moves when motivation is provided by mental persuasion.
Or when exteriors give me a motive.
Sometimes I fail to see the reason for the worth of pursuance.
Coagulated thoughts then become a nuisance.
Time never waits, so I watch time with prudence.
So maybe my time can be continued, rather than in conclusion.
My essence of being in which I remain,
The pursuance of dreams I wish to obtain
Melody of my soul shall sing me a song,
Embracing my essence to which I belong
Facing myself, What shall I find?
Trials endured through the hands of time
Parallels of my mind echo away,
Speaking the moments of my yesterdays
Recollection of memory embedding my thoughts,
Untangling my spirit amongst the knots
Conquering confusion consuming my soul,
Releasing the madness taking its toll
Pursuing the future with hope by my side,
Beauty of my essence no longer shall hide
Shining my light upon my darkened heart,
Stitching the pieces fallen apart
Revitalization of past stories told,
Essence of my healing starting to mold
Beginning again on this long winding trail,
Into my future my essence shall sail
She's aware he's awfully chivalrous for carrying such casual intent
While there's subconscious recognition he's a blend of canny ways
Mixed with filthy desire
Leaving her plenty of room for discontent
His finicky facade that this helpless girl can't help but admire
While to herself she's being a liar
As if she could deny this mans selfish pursuance
Her misinterpretations are inevitable
A genitive surefire
He'll maintain his obvious avoidance for exclusivity
She'll claim to have been perpetually blinded by his witty ways
As she induced her own misfire
Those eyes of his will misconstrue
Betting on the fact she'll negate her own savvy finesse
That self proclaimed ability to see through
Inevitably he'll be praised and built up as a statue
Like his soul
He'll be mended of stone
While in the interim
She'll be gazing pitifully
Into shades of blue
I wonder the words to pen here,
Once I said you those three words
And you assayed a story thereafter.
Few letters were found brushed off
Few were found bedded with dusts
Leaving rest of the pages tore apart
Where the letters within... were lost somewhere.
Thenceforth I sought to pen few new stories
I found those same letters were repeated
From the unsanded story ...
That we once secured to write together.
Yet I tried to perceive few fresh letters
ANd there I was perplexed
When those letters synonymised
The letters...those were lost somewhere
When the pages of the unsanded story were tore apart.
Once I tried to pen the same old story
But thence you already composed one of yours''
And thereafter I left it incomplete
Yet penning it with few scattered letters
And mindless words.
You seemed to pen yours" with melodic words
And I lamented mine,
You were blessed to revive with a new life
And I was cursed
Still searching for those letters...lost somewhere.
Yet I pray to be blessed with those letters
So that I can pen it again...
I just need to find out those same old letters
But here I need you
So that I can assay the same story hereafter.
Realy, you are a romantic rose with rare radiance, in
fact, you are a fine flower with fair fragrance, always, an
awesome...angel with art allurance, perfectly, a
priceless princess with passion in her pursuance.
To me you are one in a million...
a sweet sister, super star... You storm and stun, faithful,
friendly and free... ful of fun,
charming, cheerful and... Shining like the sun.
Knowing you has been an excelent, extra-ordinary
experience,
intriguing & incredible, you've got an indellible
incense.
Passionate, purposeful & plain, got no pretence. You
are an epitome of exquisite and eternal excellence.
A priceless poetess with lively and lovely lyrics, so
nice.
She wields creative condiments in this poetry pot of
soup... and super spice,
with terrific thrust, theme and tones to make us think
twice.
Happy Birthday to a dazzling dame, whose poetic
prowess can't be plagiarized.
Dedicated to Charmaine Chirop on her birthday, every
May 1st is her day. Wishing you all the best sis!
Shadow
From vantage morning of my dreams;
I counted my length of days,
Heretofore on earth, rooted the strength of manly yob,
In pursuance of transient dreams,
The ebbing shadows spur
The Everest i would scales,
To amass the fortune i must astride;
And battles the armoured Goliaths to victory,
Bestowed by kings and lords, in golden palaces,
Medals of Emeralds and adorable princess;
And a crown with minaret of peacock feathers,
Basking in prideful bondage,
But at the drowsy dusk of my realism;
Dreams are made in heaven,
Creeping shadows are made of void,
Void is nothingness.
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