{Poet’s Note : Third Poem of Set of 5 SPOKEN WORD poems written in SAPPHIC STANZAS }
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Power of moment equals power itself
intuition is direct perception true
free from any reasoning constrictions
truth redemption raw
Intelligence with insight fresh dwells in Heart
recognition of holy inheritance
calls going out never return unanswered
ONE listens raptly
Sisters ! we are pure existence, finely cased
resist not this, lest offspring rings no lacy face
cast no emotion asunder, scatter on waves
judge not Dark Nights of Soul
Identify viable passions, what’s best
explore possibilities, differentiate hest
trust your ideas and commitments, no fear
away from crowds, hear
Will of Supreme desires meshment of leaves
birthed not to resist parts of One, reject no eaves
return to states of harmony now urgent
acceptance of all
Equalise resistibility to trying seasons
timid is need to fathom everything new
lose not ourselves in futures still to arrive
motions of waves ebb
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I am a beer taster it's an odd job
Beers are like nuts, they're tasty, nuts do soothe the hops
I drink a lot of beers , I drink them with cheer
My skills i learned with glee at many workshops.
I smell them note thier quality I love beer.
I taste the feel . These shops do have the chops
An oatmeal stout and, ales of cream are the top
A Lambic ale is fruity Drink them with peers
An oatmeal stout,dark, tastes of cocoa I state,
An oatmeal stout does taste like coffee, it's great .
You like cream that's whipped ?Cream ale a dream.
I do love brown fruity tasting wheat ale .
This ale is light it tastes like whip cream
A ale of fruity wheat on tap will never fail.
And many tastes this brownish ale's theme
I check out findings raptly for each beer,
I taste the ales and beers ,my job my career
The moon had got itself tangled up
in a glass telephone kiosk.
Tricks of light do not apply to moonlight,
for it is a ghost
haunting its face only through earthy reflections.
It looks to us to see it.
The city was strangely quiet,
motorcars grew distant,
Like shadows upon cobbled pathways,
the clip clop of horse's hooves
could be heard to be passing-by.
For a moment,
time had slipped, between the cracks of the pavement,
I was convinced that the moon
was trying to phone me.
Standing as still as any wind-swayed lamppost
I listened raptly,
eventually the dull roar of modern traffic came back.
The moon had broken free and had returned,
to the darkening sky.
In the empty telephone booth
an old fashioned, Bakelite receiver
dangled from its curled chord,
while the night eerily hummed on.
youth jaw juts raptly
staring down wisened old bull
passing cloud applauds
Rambunctiously I go
Rambling in the dark woods
Randomly following
Range trails made by racoons
Raptly I watch among
Ramps, next to the creek bed
Rationalism leaves
ramps-noun-a wild plant much like spring onions with a garlicy taste
July soon followed the sixth month of June.
Sun blazes brighter and raptly warms.
Clouds may burst by late afternoon
and oft spin wild thunderstorms.
But, sky and sun commune
to embrace their norms.
For late-night boon-
darkness forms
pearl hewn
Moon.
meadow of the noon
wildflowers of all colors
raptly I stand still
flinging both arms wide
underneath the citron sun
I whirl and I dance
the hour of languor
has no way impacted me
I twirl in fragrance
My favorite wonders and magic found in each Fall
are the way colors of trees raptly begin to sprawl
Across the woodland paths that I like to wander
the season fills me with many poems to ponder
Blazing leaves of yellow against skies of Prussian blue
then russets and copper and royal red break through
Swirling reflections saturate winding waterways
beautiful pallets to fill my picture-perfect seeking gaze
When gusty winds and rain come to gleefully play
We see the leaves set sail from the trees as they sway
As mist curls in the dawn, the nights welcome the cold
Autumn too must end so winter can begin to enfold
9-10-2020
Autumn-Fall Rhyme Challenge Poetry Contest
1st place premium Thank you!
By Izunna Okafor
Beyond the shrubs of Sahara
Lifted a munt of brainy bond
Over the Mississippi of Ethiopia
Lofted a penner with his hunky thoughts
Across the bridge of a foreign land
Hovered a book of beautiful pages
Tightly enclaved yet as an Ireland
In a skull rounded in the clime of golden edges
Off the coast of Addis Ababa
Tears rang bell aloud
Beholding a star being staggered
In a nimbus of a faraway land
A heroic pen was raptly melted
As the book of many pages shattered across the ocean
A nation's pride has become ashes
Making a wave in the hist of the deadly world
Oh! he was roasted faraway
Faraway his father land
Amidst tears in the eyes his nation
A great gem was ruefully tossed
The ashes of his fecund head
The cranes of his creative fingers
The cremains of his eagle eyes
Now pose lifeless in a foreign land
He's gone
A hero is gone
Roasted in a faraway land
Oh! He's gone forever.
© Izunna Okafor, 2019.
How beautiful they both are to my eyes and emotions;
my precious, toddler son is my very heart and
our frisky kitten is my loving, purr baby!
The two boys bonded quickly and surprisingly gently.
Right now, both focus equally raptly captured by all
wonders in rain’s changes upon the windowpane.
Enthralled by wet glistenings, one small paw and hand
both draw dew ribbons with same baby sponge passion.
... CayCay
September 7, 2019
Freedom comes from within
You can beat me, whip me, slash me, splash me
but I am still free
to think what I want about you
to plot your demise
to write your transgressions down in my soul's center
Freedom comes from within
I can be in the most boring of boring of boring math classes,
not paying a bit of attention, but looking raptly attentive,
to fool the teacher, as I create my next poem, or my next painting
Freedom comes from within.
You can smack me and smash me,
You can stick a gun in my face.
I am free to worry about what comes next,
or think about my children and how much they will miss me.
Freedom comes from within.
Survivors know this
better than most
and
always
Against attentiveness,all arrived at alarming an agreement,
But best before,big brothers begun bathing behind bordered basement,
Could cane caution correctly,creating common checks?
Don't disturb determiners destroying developed dretch,
Even enemies embedded eminence encloses earth,
For five fowls flying frankly felt first,
Greatness granted ghosts gurging goals,
Holy,holy,...harlots hidden homes,
Intimidation is icing in itchiness,
Just jelt Jailers jaunting jowls,
Kindly keep kings keenly,
Letting little liars like long life,
Men modeled me mainly,
Naming new nations noteably,
Only options open old oracles,
Proving professionalism pertained,
Queens queued quickly quackles,
Rectifying rules rendered raptly,
So shall souls see salvation secured,
Than thinking tomorrow tells the truth,
Unknown ultraroyalists understand universal uglesome,
Virtually vitalizing viewers vexed,
When we win wonderfully without wickedness,
X-country xianity xenagogue,
Yes,y'all yielders yeans,
Zealously zeroizing zoetic zones...zones!
Aloft, with keen eyes in sorbet skies’ raspberry half-light
visceral vibrations of vitality does await.
Soaring in a hush, with plumage plush, a silent stealth kite,
he glissades on ghostly winds with mystical wings of fate.
Poised to plummet from his summit of purple sundown spread
with wingspan wide, wreathed gradual glide, hunts a twilight hawk.
Floating form causes flocks to brainstorm on life or death dread,
those flying forlorn, late to roost, are reduced by his stalk.
Aerodynamic, his dramatic dive deals destiny,
raptor raptly pursues passerine through air’s plum-bruised dim.
Whispering wings whisk to live and not die desperately,
over the arborvitaes the future for one is grim.
If it’s true that energy never dies; its cries transform,
then songbird's notes will ascend on hunter's wings in reform.
Susan Ashley
December 3, 2017
~ First Place ~
Contest: Your Best Poem In The Last Year
Sponsor: Silent One
~ Seventh Place ~
Contest: Best Rhyming Poem October - December 2017
Sponsor: John Hamilton
(A BIT OF BACKGROUND: The poem's persona is viewing a well-loved manga painting of a stately but abandoned old home, featuring an ethereal young girl who looks sad, and a number of half-hidden specters. This sonnet seeks to express the persona's longing for the painting to become a living, moving scene that can be influenced.)
Milady May, if I could make you real
I'd cast a dreamer's spell on this tableau
Of light and magic, make the people know
The range of things a girl like you would feel.
We'd make the people wonder why the tears
Silent-shed beneath the blossom tree.
We'd have them scanning every inch to see
What trials have made you older than your years.
They'd raptly seek for evidence and crave
Some promise of what is and isn't true,
Some hope of future happiness for you,
Some hint why you're at once both sad and brave.
These ghosts and beasts, the show they'll try to steal.
We'll hint at clues, for now, we must conceal.
Statue of Eros, beheaded.
Genitals gouged by offended Christians.
Gaze raptly at the dimensions of the cavity.
Imagine the marbled masterpiece
Of his more sexual face.
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