each morn reborn an urge arises
to pen some words on God’s bliss hum
our prayer is a whisper in the void
yearning to align with the cosmic drum
mind-body vessel drifts through space
within consciousness, a small bubble
gross vibrations from it have departed
all that remains now is a small stubble
bliss magnetism has something to say
benign burn both cajoling and compelling
we are reeled in to the now continuum
where perhaps residual fears need quelling
You dictate to me
as you want me to be,
you strap me down,
and then you frown
if I break free,
to be who I want to be!
Yes, I do not fit
I won’t stand or sit,
as you try to school,
dominate and rule
defining me to be!
what you desire to see.
How can you desire,
to light a specific fire
quelling other flames within me?
Oh, what expectation
and determination
to snuff out the me in me!
Deciding for me
to be or not to be!
how can you ever
make me want, what you prefer?
Copyright © by Crystal David John
(Published in my book titled 'Trails of Thought,' which is available on Amazon)
resting as we are without agitation
quelling all thought ripples before they arise
dwelling in the void is our meditation
imbibing boons of grace in childlike surprise
that thus without doing anything at all
as the very source of the benign bliss squall
we behold the play of life poised in the heart
breath by breath beholding bliss ignition start
Whither now hunker-shins?
You have a sweet countenance,
a squat grace,
always middle-aged
on the still edge of a speeding sun.
Another swift day has begun
yet here you sit among the traffic
unflinching, a bold
bladder quelling gravity
with low-sprung shanks.
You deep-seated recliner,
standing-pat over upholstered hams.
A lumpy Mona Lisa,
with your come-hither girth
and just a thin membrane
between you and chaos.
Your skin an alien chiaroscuro,
a candle-lit atlas,
and in the cockle and crimp
of your glistening skin
a truculent contrarian gleams
beneath your world-dismissing
Buddha smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
redux
We are ocean-born—
sea-salt still flows in our blood,
tides within our veins
the rhythm of waves calls us home,
to sea shanties' pulse and chants.
Once the waves have caught
you in their woven square nets
you are never free—
the waves don't ask permission
to sweep you up, knock you down.
Water yields and bends
soft yet stronger than iron,
nothing holds it back—
learn to ride the crest of change,
let its surge flow and shape you.
Each wind wells up
sculpts waves in sand, sky, sea, sounds
with smoothness caressed
to resonate sinuous
clock-like regularity.
Clouds above reflect
the sea's restless memory—
with waves in the sky
mirroring our handset waves
we use to communicate.
Signs ripple outward—
with wave gestures on the tide,
sometimes dismissive,
dragging under, lifting up,
quelling, by just saying 'Hi'.
Feud Tyrannosaurus Techs spewed they must be Taurus
Their notorious own porous homegrown lewd chorus
On a heinous hardcore intravenous tour to floor us
Felling their telling of spoof truths pointless like Icarus
Fury jury swelling..no quelling now imbued enormous
Screwed slewed after being pursued...they deplore us
Mood brewed skewed by a crude & rude thesaurus
Be shrewd make sure this brood are booed eschewed
Moan their scary lairy tone or drone's prone to bore us
Corroded clouds exude narcotic, honeyed sap,
Quelling ancient mayhem in a digital trap.
A quiet ritual, a ballet of bone and steel,
As the mind succumbs to a whispered, lucid deal.
Relics hum in the hollow of the throne,
Nerves collapse in a drug's strange, echoed tone.
A gilded cage, its promises now dust,
I grow my paper-cut wings, born of fragile trust.
In his heart is burning aggression
And violence is his lifelong confession
And sure he might wear nice shoes and a tie
But that's a masquerade mask to suit the lie
A barbarian in heart and mind
He rarely fits in with the civilized kind
Dancing on his victim's grave
He assuredly is a dastardly knave
Devilish desires feed his fury
Quelling the fire inside he seeks to bury
There is no sense in the violence
But also no peace in the silence
Your voice is not noise
Even if powerful people it annoys
If allowed to continue the meandering neanderthal
Will be the fall of it all
Authors of the scriptures remain unknown,
wisdom penned handed down from the ages,
pointing out the way each must walk alone,
escaping illusionary cages
and quelling fire that within heart rages.
All Upanishads have a simple aim:
to entwine us with God, in life’s end game.
To ponder or not to ponder - that is the question.
Is it a waste of my precious seconds, minutes, hours
To dwell on the questions that plague my mind?
I spend my waking and waning hours mulling and considering,
Crashing waves of question marks and possibilities
Dance around in my mind's eye, quelling the beast of sleep.
A skeptical girl's dream is a paranoid's nightmare.
The mind wanders the winding path, ways blockaded by the
immaturity of age's eye. Paths extend,
arms outstretched, sclera comes into view. I enter the land
of darkness and trivial trifles, numbers rapidly rising.
To observe then look away - oh what a gift.
The fluttering, juvenile gaze upon life offers a plethora of privileges.
A jovial demeanor, an emaciated ego, a blithe smile -
charities that are given to the majority.
The plights that plague me are mere afterthoughts
in the meandering mind of the thoughtless. Idealizing,
reading, puzzling reserve themselves for the
fragmented, slightly distorted. And now I must
ponder, what the slightly distorted
save themselves from.
As the ethereal guitar mesmerises
My soul responds
As if I dipped into a melodic bath
Of perfectly curated
Lovingly tempered
Heart massaging
Candle flickering
Water
A fragrant tune invades
My nostrils
Flaring as the warm
Moistened air tumbles by
The world merges into
Perfection
Harmony
Stirring
The resonance
Of childhood memory
Percolating through the mist
As sliding strings
Caress my ears
My mind drifting
Towards that past
Safer place
Yet this mesmerising medication
This tuneful tumult quelling
Perfect prescription
Is deeply welcome
Somewhere in my gut
My true being
Soothed as we surrender
To this soulful sabbath
May you never grow old
At the joyful table
Where your soul dines
Hear the whispers
Of the small pleasures
Taste the fermented flavours
Of the ordinary delights
Using all your available senses
When the music plays
To transport you
Run to catch the moment
Soak in the vapour
Embibe the elixir
Breathe it all in deeply
Holding in gratitude
Each heavenly moment
The gate creaked, moaning and groaning to shut,
Sealing up, quelling, the bickering blame-game glut.
No you can’t sneak around, and jump the fence,
With grave looting cries of grief-stricken offense!
That won’t work anymore! So don’t strut up on-bail,
Clad in your ghostly godforsaken gossamer veil,
Claiming it was not your fault, 'cos you told no lie!
For snake-eyes have tears that very quickly dry!
The gist was far to hollow, for back-sliding disdain,
So go! The gate’s locked - you won’t get in again.
Gripped with freedom gear
Driving well, sans fear
Our son whirls in joyous spree
Quelling my heart’s shout
Smiting mother's doubt...
He champions victor’s glee!
In special wheelchair
There he zooms with flair
Gesturing triumphant sign…
Oh, we feel so blest
Since his spastic pest
Makes us gain God's grace* divine.
*2 Corinthians 9:8 And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.
November 23, 2024
2nd place "Alouette Me" Rhyme Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich; judged on 12/2/2024
A petite yet sinewy muscle, exuding charisma,
A citadel of expression, tenacious in awe.
Its tentacles sting with a vindictive jest,
While cavernous blooms cradle the nectar’s quest.
Cobblestoned emotions jade my mental slate,
As chronicles surface, vivid and up to date.
A fragile form, each breath a whispered plea,
Cracked like ice beneath a trembling sea.
Nervous breakdowns drown me by the shore;
Patronizing gazes weigh heavily on my core.
A colossal trial looms, plunging me into chiaroscuro gloom,
Echoing the spectral whispers of Annabelle's forsaken room.
Whiffs of solace levitate from amma's lap,
A delicate darling, like rose dew on morning's nap.
Yet, from heaven's soft veil, a Messiah descends,
Bestowing wisdom, like a balm that mends.
A cooing whisper: “Confidence is the finest accessory one can wear,”
Infusing my fragile spirit, quelling mayhem with flair.
A garment forged by time, self, and panache,
Glinting like sapphires in the esoteric cache.
For fear ravages the dungeon’s shadowed depths,
Shattering armor, leaving it fractured, bereft.
Magnetic words defy gravity’s law—
A candle in the rain, my flame untouched, in thaw.
Queen of Heaven,
Lady of Solitude,
Sovereign of the Universe,
Opener of the Way,
Mistress of Angels,
Hail, O Builder of the Universe,
Graceful mysterious rose,
Refuge from despair,
Gate of Dawn
Whence light is born
Whom all in heaven see
As fairest of the fair and
Strongest of the strong.
Hail, O First Cause,
O Crown and Throne,
Soil and Flower,
Aether and the Sea,
Dragon-quelling
Slayer of demons and gods
Saboteur of all cruelties;
O, Glorious rutting virgin
Utmost benefactress
Devour our sufferings
Liberate us from our chains,
Gladden with your blessings.
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