Love seeps from curling words
into a floundering bloodstream,
A Pychpomp's breath,
pumping through the pulse of mature ache
resurrects a rage for bloodthirsty romance,
Her veins awaken to tighten hotly
through and through along thighs,
wrists, and throat,
She is captive to a caress
controlling and cathartic,
A ruthless healing ensues,
blooms like bitten beauty
begging for a deeper kiss,
His spirit swirls around her most sensitive nerve,
pearls of dormant passion
begin to sweat their luster,
His gripping becoming brazen
and gothic strong,
She sighs with a scream of cream
that shatters sorrow
and simmers the soul,
His wing tips ablaze
along her heart now starlit true,
within a breathless epiphany
Her world has been remade,
reworked, and reformed
into a righteous worthy faith
that chaos nor the Devil can curse -
J.A.B.
Love is a blessing,
Love is a miracle,
Love heals,
Love resurrects,
Oh, what a grace!
To humans,
Love is magic.
Yeah!
Love drives
Love invigorates
Love sustains
Oh, love protects
Love guides
Love, love, love
A magic current,
A palpable feeling,
Almost tangible,
An invisible glory,
Conspicuously hidden
An inaudible melody
Sweet to the soul,
Nearly testable,
The lingua can attest
Love
It fills the air
We know its odourless scent
It warms the mind
And gladden the heart
Calms the nerves
Even the skin knows about it.
A universal language,
For the unborn, young and dotard
An unlimited force,
Knowing no boundaries
Across human races,
Brown, black, white or yellow,
All perceive this precious grace
The beasts and fowls comprehend it
The birds of the air can reciprocate
What an unfathomable currency
For the fauna and flora of the world
That each can transact with!
Love!
Glorified and honoured,
Sung and spoken,
What an invention
What a design and creation
In the likeness of the Creator,
To be created,
Only Love could create love.
Love, love, love.
a searing gash
the world still lives through
Sep.11~
as phoenix proudly rises
from ashes, life resurrects.
Amidst the ebon of my lonely room
I feel a covert brush across my face.
The phantom from my dreams disrupts the gloom,
which terminates despair's profound embrace.
Her mystic coffee eyes entrance my soul
as freedom's blanket warms my frigid heart.
This charmer's stitch has sealed seclusion's hole,
now dammed, the flow of somber tears will part.
My trusting fingers grasp her guiding hand
as flames of adoration burn within.
I bow before her sensual command
and let the blaze of passion's fire begin.
We sail the sea of fascination's kiss
and bathe in waves of rapture's soft caress,
then anchored at the dock of Eden's bliss,
we mingle on the beach at love's address.
My spirit's flooded by enchantment's rain,
which resurrects a buried peace inside.
Beneath the midnight moon she's freed all pain.
Upon her magic ship my dreams now ride.
mud-musk resurrects
plows sing lush green freedom songs ~
droughts within dry yet?
Amidst the ebon of my lonely room
I feel a covert brush across my face.
The phantom from my dreams disrupts the gloom,
which terminates despair's profound embrace.
Her mystic coffee eyes entrance my soul
as freedom's blanket warms my frigid heart.
This charmer's stitch has sealed seclusion's hole;
now dammed, the flow of somber tears will part.
My trusting fingers grasp her guiding hand
as flames of adoration burn within.
I bow before her sensual command
and let the blaze of passion's fire begin.
We sail the sea of fascination's kiss
and bathe in waves of rapture's soft caress,
then anchored at the dock of Eden's bliss
we mingle on the beach at love's address.
My spirit's flooded by enchantment's rain,
which resurrects a buried peace inside.
Beneath the midnight moon she's freed all pain.
Upon her magic ship my dreams now ride.
I do not write poems to weaken the heart,
I write the words that flow from the heart.
I believe people will understand me,
If their hearts still beat with sincerity.
I do not write on paper random things,
I bring to life the thoughts that my mind brings.
They become poems, flowing from my pen,
The voice of the poet awakens again.
I do not write for profit or gain,
Nor do I lease them out or sell my name.
Yet, within poetry, there's a sacred power,
That revives and resurrects them forever.
I write my poems with inspiration’s spark,
For truth that’s clear, unshaken, and stark.
The words left by Abai and Mukh still shine,
I carry them, unbroken, through time.
I write to stretch the lives we hold dear,
To lift the spirits and bring them near.
With poetry, Allah gave us a clear way,
To live forever, in verses that stay.
I write to soothe sorrow with kind words,
To make the wicked weep with truth unheard.
I write my poems to touch the soul,
To melt the ice, to make hearts whole!
For the sorrow that clouds my people’s days,
Who else will write if I don’t raise?
Those who my written poems never read,
They are the ones who I despise indeed.
Betrayed by our muse,
seems we’re doomed to lose
but then blushing heart
resurrects lost art.
Soul’s poetic rhythm
in mind-body prism,
flows when we let go
ego’s need to know.
Universal mind
and heart when aligned,
births a divine spark,
that lights up the dark.
To invoke such grace,
steps to soul retrace,
making our heart pure
and love’s touch demure.
The lost refrain resurrects,
music of the spheres reflects,
absorbed by heart, voiced by mind,
songs sublime, loving and kind.
Slower than slow, slower still,
drop by drop, voids within fill,
as love in love, for love’s sake,
willingly burns at the stake.
All that that is, is a flame,
which on symbols lays its claim,
creating bubbles in space,
orbiting fulcrum of grace.
Poised at the in-between stage,
there being no wars to wage,
lost refrains become the cause,
to brighten the pregnant pause.
Quote: Bring forth the music dear lover of soul, she's waiting for a drop
A Conducter's baton fills the air with caresses of passion and zest
as a black patent leather shoe taps gently on a varathane wood plank
it sends a sensory cortex vibration to a deaf infant child, pure elation.
With a suave wave of his delicate hand the conductor brings the music
to a regal Orchestra who is finely attuned to a child's ears like fine sand.
Waltzelettos to the heart, the child doesn't hear not does she cry
when a salt and pepper haired man raises his tuxedo sleeves in the air,
the heart pumps blood and resurrects her once more.
Staccato notes each detached and separated from the other,
the newborn listens, lost in a paradise of movement and sound.
Infinite notes from a seasoned Maestro,
head is sewn to the carpet next to a transistor radio,
the toddler remembers louder days
He was a German Maestro/composer and his name was Carlos Kleiber,
today he sleeps in a quiet memorial room, in beautiful Slovania.
O maiden fair whose elegant space that I, a little ant has found grace
It’s true that the breath of the devil resurrects Death
But your beauty can raise both Death and the devil to light
See your skin, as warm as a beige that glows under the merciless sun
And backdrops all the layers of gold you have dangling from your arms
O your eyes, feline and utterly luminous
As if they project their own ray beams
Fine woman of svelte neck, straight back and sturdy hips,
I secretly watch you – and patiently await my turn of acquaintance
To feel the peace of your calm temperament
And visualize up close the form of your
Lovely essence.
Speak to me, speak with me, why do you succumb to sorrow for the world that we despise?
Your tears leave me with a wounded heart. Come, cleave my breast and see
ego identity long since vaporised
at times yet surreptitiously resurrects
it’s now like a dusty, discarded book
lying somewhere on our bookshelf
it served its purpose in our early years
but then acquired a mind of its own
soon after tail began wagging the dog
so we plucked it out to sing soul’s song
we now roam the earth bubbling with mirth
this is taken as an orientation unbecoming
trauma bonding with darkness most fear light
so we dwell in the void, vibrant in our aloneness
It seems nothing is ever lost
but is transmuted, returns
to another state
or resurrects
into something new.
Take thoughts thrown from
a pier into the dark
water lapping below.
They make no sound
as they sink, resigned
to their fate,
becoming whispery filaments
of what had been
spectral inhabitants
of the head.
Long threads rise
to the surface and float
free to catch the moonlight,
becoming strands of silver
drifting off on an outgoing tide.
Where they go
nobody knows although
they are more than
what they seem,
webs set to catch
a passing soul and weave
a lovely face
into the tapestry
of a dream.
You stole my far away kingdom
didn't say what for?
Said I didn't have the jurisdiction
to grapple my own crown
The ice resurrects steely bacteria
will our antibiotics endure?
I feel all elephantine
the piper is never paid
My foot prints are all asunder
on ancient sanded dunes
My ship is sinking
The troubadour sings
The innkeeper perilously on the cliff yelps
some erratum does he detect
He weeps and
prays like humans.
He SAVES like God.
He HEALS like God.
He sleeps and hungers
like humans.
He teaches
and preaches like humans.
He FORGIVES like God.
He pays taxes like humans.
He RESURRECTS and WALKS
ON WATER like God.
He CLEANSES LEPERS,
CASTS OUT DEMONS,
and FEEDS THOUSANDS like God.
He BLESSES CHILDRENS and
UNSTOPS DEAF EARS like God.
Jesus, The Christ, was born
in a stable like animals.
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