,How seasons and weather change
the way I shiver pleasantly from their
anonymous ways---
daring in the heated blisters of
summer's flesh, then
mysterious through winter's ghost...
There's no way to measure each
and every cycle's radiance--- I don't know
why they are equal in lush revelries,
untamed yet graceful
along pendulums of time.
Still, I thrive, fumble, and journey once
again to relish the ambrosial interludes
within their galaxy ...without counting
the viscous sunsets of fall
or spring time carousels:
I gaze experientially
at life's moments kinetic as brushed winds --
tuck them as magical spells and then
begin yet another awakening
before plucked midnight shuts down...
Asclepius, in days when we are young,
The Music of the Spheres we first hear sung!
Through straining then, to listen and to learn,
What revelries of truth one may discern!
But we are not conceived as angels are:
A thousand mindless cares our minds must mar,
Whose troubled tides, through time, turn tyrannous tsar.
‘Tis ever and of needs a sorrowful grace,
To see a distant beauty, but in trace,
And know it is no work of mortal race.
My deepest fantasies are high.
Into the deep I would not go.
In them, I'd soar with birds in sky
and watch all things that are below.
All on my own, I long to fly.
My deepest fantasies are high.
I’d drift with wind where I’d belong,
and with wind's whispers, I would sigh.
No revelries of wealth have I.
I’d rather lift like a balloon.
My deepest fantasies are high.
Perhaps I’d even touch the moon!
My body once again would be
without its pain, and I’d feel spry
while moving like a dream and free.
My deepest fantasies are high.
through streets of déclassé squalor, i wander,
courtesan of chaos my feet bare,
ballerina on the dirty floor
o the city's kin of decay,
ragtag orchestra plays its dirge;
an eerie swan song.
i dance with shadows, a mistress of midnight's
in alleyways, i hear the ghosts of carnal revelries,
know the dolled-up ghoul of society's sweet melee,
her cocktail shrouded in obtuseness,
shares its waves of beer-fused intoxication
steering blatant revelries, ghouls engaged to death
chomping down streetlight openings in bitter stone
bow walled yew tree drifters, steps of many feet in
shallow parade to pew, the kneel cushion's betrayal
- how the shadowless crave… and the headless sing
In realm of love, you are the awe of mystique~
Musings of smitten soul, passions bespeak,
When glances romantic lure enamored night
To dance of fantasies moonlit revelries ignite
Waltzing with stars scintillating opaline skies,
As smiles endearing emanate from your eyes
Beaming missives esoteric, vying to explore,
Secrets of heartbeats extolling echoes of yore,
Adulating present as tomorrow’s dream soar
To domains heavenly, croons of love implore,
Infatuated by aroma your redolent vibes impart,
Abloom in elixir of the rose inside my heart.
March 26, 2023
Poem of the day on March 27, 2023
Placed 1st: The Rose Inside My Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Oh, splendorous, spectacular, resplendent autumn!
Boldly you dye cypress ~ flaunting ochre, cinnamon,
Yellowing sugar-maple, glazing tangerine emotions,
As scarlet winds warble in accents of majestic aspens,
Responding in purple whispers, tupelo leaves flutter
Reminiscing in revelries evoked by red-oak crimson
Lingering in blazing meadows, enchanting red maple.
Oh, autumn! fly me there, into depths of the season,
Frolicking upon gamboge hills, wrap me in your vision,
Tour with me dazzling terrains of flamboyant foliage
Composing deep pleasure in brilliant changing colors,
Hang your portrait upon cobalt cliffs of ruby horizon
Painting blushing hearts in amber hints of setting sun,
Mindful still of wistful shudders quivering barren trees
And unsung withering yearnings of falling golden leaves,
Aspiring blossoming kisses--on lips of flowering spring.
While we wait
The terrace of our flat is a place for retired kings
the sun shines humbly not burning my nose and
the sea is calm as a full glass of water left
undisturbed in the kitchen during the dark hours,
outside in the streets, the pest is raging, closed
shops and full hospitals, death is aggravating,
caused by people refusing to wear masks or go to
parties and illegal revelries, the pest is demanding
payment, nothing is free if you are not prepared
to dance with death not dressed for the occasion.
In the interim, we sit inside and wait for the vaccine.
Colored leaves are earthly bound
falling soft upon the ground
making not one single sound
images of beauty found.
So many those, them, and these
tugging gently from their trees
drifting darting in the breeze
Autumn’s joyful revelries.
Hues of yellow, gold, and red
all around, soft landing dead
lying still upon their bed
in my thoughts, they live instead.
(click on my picture to buy my poetry book!)
Paper’s blank stare
haunting
frigid winter breeze
mocking
musings warm notions
memories
revelries and illusory
moments
haunting scenes hues
vignettes
an ineffable sacred
history
inundates overcomes my
senses
false fashions these
delusions
evocative and sublime
beguiling
vacated slowly razed
gutted
cast asunder aside
irretrievable
taunting lovely ideas
recede
languish and diminish
weaken
lovely ideas influence
eviscerated
tomb of unmistakable
oblivion.
(click on picture for Angst & Anger)
While sighs arose from dried marsh and clay,
the girl in me embraced an amiable virtue
born out of an affinity for our town’s revelries :
Oh those bouncy play with cousins
when burnt dusk kindly taught me
the wisdom of moon’s varied phases, fables,
then a soul tamed through older clans’ demise
as this ancient realm became a night keeper,
leading me unto stages of womanhood
Today, I am older, perhaps more dauntless…
yet nostalgia seeps into these heavy eyes
where youth’s indulgences
are now gone, damp, acrid...
A bushfire searing our farmstead
like cinder on my hands bolstered my spirit
Though parish bells knell afar,
long gazes of abode ‘s remnants tear my flesh,
mirroring portraits of youth epiphanies
which now mold my present life's outlook…
a kind resolute amidst triumphs and hurdles.
Brian Strand’s Completely Your Choice 17
~ format and spelling of ' girlhood edited
due to bad internet
9/27/2020/em>
Shattered dream of hushed night
Trapped in tenebrous nightmare
A world without you, a forlorn cry,
Vacant stare of lonesome life
Aching to hear your loving voice.
A chorus of sweet angelic hymn
Saddened to remain unsung,
A charming ballad of romance
Distressed to fade unheard.
An allegory of impassioned love
Woefully abandoned unwritten,
An album of cherished memories
Left unfinished and unspoken.
Muzzled voice of an empty nest--
A robin’s roost bereft of eggs,
A nightingale strumming tunes of ache--
Its lyrics trembling in latent pain.
A world without you, quite barren--
A spring shriveled in wintry freeze
Wishing for life’s ornate revelries,
Longing vibrant summer flowers
And autumn’s fiery zealous splendor.
May 29, 2020
Placed 1st: A world without you poetry contest
Sponsor: JCB Burl
Placed 1st: Strand #780 Contest by Brian Strand
Flesh to bone, lets solly our love
And clad our apples in green leaves.
The river that brought us together
The milk of our breasts, yet flourishing
Shall not dry up in brimming season-
The snail wet the ground along its path,
Yet no sand follows it to its shell-
Our love shall be drunk with revelries
But our virginity shall bear no umbilical cord-
For the night preens before standing mirror
The synthesizing owls mewl their spree
And the chirping crickets tie together their wings-
So why should we not solly round bonfire
And tincture our love with ecstasy…
While finding myself in season’s twilight
I see parts of life crumble amid grime of ruins,
As a declining mind wanders to balance
Gratified triumphs and numerous offenses.
That from an era’s DNA, I search my own history
Sorting out the will of earthly fate, to pinpoint
The wake of milestones... the numbness of lies.
How can I redeem the what ifs?
Accepting my fragility held by a few strands
Of cycles’ thinning yarns, my essence
Spins up down through countless revelries:
Then to gaze at the most lustrous star
Where a thousand vestiges imprint faces,
Even melodies which bear laughable chatters.
How fondly old can I really get!…
And yet, yet, as nightfall grabs
One more petal falling… there is something
glorious about ripened age--- after all.
5/09/2019
The Smile At The Foot Of The Ladder
For craig cornish
Deep within our mental state
Deep within that quantum place
That manifests in energy
Particulate piece by piece
In quarks we dream
In neutrinos we speed
In atoms we bounce and collide
In waves waves we role in brilliant light
Deep down inside
Where we live infinite lives
Time after time
Living out quantum revelries
In cosmic spirituality
Deep within conscious reality
Where we cast away banality
To sail the universe fantastically
On hopes and dreams astrally
No past, no future
Just presently in each and every moment
Of a quantum conscious dream.
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