Twice around the world he sped
pursuing madness, folly
Unrequited lover he
denied, his desperate volley
Once ignited, passions roused
flames obey no limits
Wildfires scorch the tender earth
unbridled desire's afterbirth
The sun roused me from my bed
when his warm rays reached my head.
I missed the fog that flowed in the dark,
but I made a fire burn with just a spark
to warm cow's milk for my child
on this mild March morn in the wild.
There's a dead elm to chop for wood.
My axe is sharp and will cut real good.
I have to stack all the logs near the door
cuz I know in the night I will need more.
The chill in my home gets much too cold.
Cracks need to be fixed, so I've been told,
but that's not a job that I can do
for I don't have the skills. Not a clue.
I will hire a hand who will get the chore done
and then on he will go to the next one.
He can do all the work while I sit for a spell
and say at last, "I think it's time to sell!"
All upstood this white house 'fore
Sun-roused, but not lit for.
Of whose own faces, tulip's, bell's.
And her's; sweetly charms more.
By Phan Tan Hai
Did anyone hear, on unfamiliar streets,
sunlight falling and breaking into desolate shards?
He climbed a hill to watch the starfruit tree
burst into bloom and wept into the dusk.
A horse cried out from two thousand years ago,
breathing impermanence into the soul of poetry.
He roused the Bodhi-mind from slumber—
night-blooming flowers opened toward the ten directions.
Riding in the car, nerves in my stomach
I know that I need to tell her my truth
I know the word will lead to my mumick
But I must let my heart sing like a luth
A *****, what a pathetic thing to be
Yet when I told her, she spoke no ill words
Not a slur, not a curse was said to me
I always thought I’d be thrown out like curds
Then I roused from my sleep, from my dream
Truth not it be, my mother loving me
I cry stars for tears, they glitter and gleam
I hide my truth from her, I let it be
A real dream I had of my real taboo
A real dream, but never a dream come true
Umbrella, how I’d worried
You’d always felt under the weather,
But that’s me, as you are up
when the rain comes down.
There are old wives who tell tales
of shepherds who mourn -
They’ve been gazing at Dawn;
Seen her blush red
as the climate is changing.
Umbrella, they say the heavens are opening.
But how can this be true?
Such a view makes me feel blue,
Intrudes and dampens my mood.
Umbrella, an awning that’s yawning,
Roused by thunder,
awoken from slumber,
you protect me from mizzle and drizzle,
as I hold you up high, aloft to the sky
with the promise of your silver lining.
All hail to you, the reigning champion!
Umbrella, as the rain clouds subside,
I tuck you under my arm, close to my side,
My brolly, you’re so jolly useful.
Once, Christmas Eve brought soft flurries of snow
the world soon became a majestic show
Festive trees gleamed from out of window panes
and carol singers sang in soft refrains.
Angels flew beneath heavenly moonlight
such an exquisite seasonal delight
Every rooftop glistening white and bright
on a charming celestial Yuletide night.
Church bells rang to tell folk of the best news
that baby Jesus was to arrive soon
Children tried not to fall asleep at all
waiting eagerly for Santa to call.
Yet snug and warm in cosy beds at rest
they'd shut their eyes and then softly they slept
Santa left them presents beneath the tree
and youngsters roused early, excitedly.
I remember this, though then just a kid
and often recall those moments of bliss
Times then were tough, but I'll never forget
the Christmas had, that was simply the best.
In the hush, hush silence of a twilight eve
Heard the gentle crooning of a dove.
She was nestling close to her love.
What thrill its lingering echo did give!
It opened in me the inlets of delight,
When my heart was longing for love.
My blues, it did instantly shove,
Illumining my heart with blazing light!
The sight and sound of those birds in love,
Roused in me a throng of lovely sensation,
Making my heart and spirit rise in elation-
A presage of love’s fruition from Heaven above.
With their merry crooning that resounded from far,
In my heart, hope’s flame began burning bright.
I felt like swimming in the sea of delight,
At the thought, I would soon have my love near.
He makes me feel safe even in the storms of life.
In the thoughts of his presence, my heart takes flight.
When he holds my strings, I am like a well navigated kite.
As far as he is with me, I come through life’s every strife.
In every adversity, it is the hope of his love,
That pulls me and gives my heart a buoyant lift.
With the warmth of his love, from life, all dark clouds drift.
How I wish to be nestled close to him as this happy pair of doves!
@
))) flashing in the dark
@
))) when the devil rolls marbles - @@ ))
@@
)))
@@ ... @@@ roused the brass trumpets
))) @@ . . . ))
@@ ))) @ ... @
@@ )))) . . . . . .
@
The stars have descended a little lower, to keep us —
My kinsmen and I —company on this night watch
On a newly roused African night.
We filch a little bit of the effulgence of the waking moon,
Reluctant, with the invasion of jealous clouds, their plumes
Fragile with inconsistency.
We rely on the luminescence of each other’s eyes and the trust
In our hearts
Tinder, broken by flying flickers of fireflies,
Shine through the breath of darkness, dis-virgining the chunky yolk
Of secrets and the clout of night, so corvine.
Every breath keeps us warm and frightens the monsters lurking
Around the lean corridors of the enchanted thresholds.
The heavens stare downward —witnesses to a stifling explosion of
Will; so are the crepitating crickets and cicadas —in prayers they
Egg us on, and through borrowed liturgy of nocturnal canticles.
The heartbeats in us make silenced music —loud only by the essence of
Gaiety and humming drums lightly tapped by ancestral fingers,
Helping to warm our hearts and will in the face of the severest darkness
Made lighter by the glows of slow-running lights — the broad painting of
Dawn.
Clouds move in random fashion
‘til roused by life’s first passion
~ We gape at Heaven’s reaction
Written: June 1st, 2025 for contest by Charles Messina
8 Syllables per line, checked by HMS.COM
***************
Flashing stars blush when caught—ignite
Through blue rock darts in sparkling light
"Across the universe"—swart crown
Pools of grief—waves of mirth are down
Scribes bid adieu in sapphire smoke
Spilling gold in a dying stroke
I doubt whether the sky still roused
The stars that once blazed and have doused
A while ago,—you seemed a fantasy—
and like a fragmentary apparition
or a flutter flitting past my faint cognition
—to my buzzing thoughts: you the rose, I the bee.
And though my hiving mind, admittedly,
swarmed all around a phony superstition,
(you—o’ flower), yet,—(and, malintution?
aside;)—you roused in me the gayest glee.
Now, you go as a prickle—as the sting
of a hard thorn, each every random while,
and seek to nib my nose, or pique my eye.—
Well, since convention bars my asking “why?”,
I’ll try to win another petal’s smile;
—though, must you be the blossom of my spring?
The trouble with Tribbles?
They leak and they dribble
especially when in your lap.
Beware if you cuddle;
they’re likely to puddle
when they are first roused from a nap.
What could be more pleasurable than this?
I muse to myself as I reminisce,
when each limb was pulled by a diff'rent horse,
that magic time when I went through divorce.
I am roused from protective amnesia,
my heart yanked out without anesthesia.
Mona Lisa, a destroyed work of art,
I picked up my brush for a brand new start.
I wager it is somewhat premature
to say I'm philosophical and mature,
but I don't wallow in desolate defeat -
with better lives now, I remain upbeat.
We can happily say we lived through hell,
and rich lawyers are overjoyed as well.
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