Radiant crystals illuminate thee, nocturnal mistress
in the wan dawn light where darkness drapes skies
Requiem aeternam bright halo, lies heaven’s portal
Winters wispy cirrus refracting ring circling
Mohawkin bespeaks of a Christmas cold moon
…December’s icy grip
Riffling ebb and tide, spawner of loon
Let rage and ruin Not be the end of me
Rubaiyat’s rhyme in thy honor
Let the waters settle, quotes of Rumi
Mercurial doomsday ruminates Mina Loy
Reigning ascendant masking impressions
Clouds envelop, shadow’s born shorn
Ravishing stillness, stormy tasks pending…
bright white ring of light
rage and ruin’s calmly still ~
not the end of me
The waves&her
Along the waves she ambles
Prevailing the ocean elysian
The longing feel of a hiraeth
Sensual, her cheeks aflush; An inamorata.
She gently rubs her eyes and sees-
the bewitching phosphenes:
Ludic, And apricate.
Among the waves she stood, in-stillness.
The aurora reflecting on her eyes.
In werifesterias, she questions and halts,
The alexithymia she relishes
Then she ruminates with a glee.
The ocean flows mellifluous-
Dulcet. So orphic.
Away from the waves she walks,
Ephemeral, on the way to her metanoia
Absquatulate.
The soft zephyr hums
the carefree spirit of youth.
A calf ruminates
under the sun's gentle rays.
Tomorrow, the slaughterhouse.
River flows zigzag way,
Ruminates of what my,
Reflections mean to me,
Relentless or shaky,
Represents me in you,
Refrains of water stream,
Raises inspiring thoughts.
(Reply to Jack Ellison’s “A Secret Formula”
with my apologies)
Jack ruminates, one day past
no i shall not say his prime
an old duffer - no, a daffy duck
with a bit of luck in his bill
be careful passing about your specimen
oh c’mon soup, his mind
he’s no average joe, no joe
at all, but a happy chap
Jack thinks himself playing craps
everyone leans in to hear the secret
but his formula is sealed
in the recesses of a junket
his trunk open, hanging out
for all to see
delighting you and me
still, dear poet, fasten your overcoat
and Happy Birthday, dear!
9/23/2022
The Final Story
A ragged rhapsody ruminates in relentless repetition as the fathomless
fugitive foments fearful fragmentation thus ethereal eternity engulfs
egregious expropriation of quietus’s quiver quaking querulous quickstep’s
quest when stories surreptitiously seep silently seduced by savourless sadness
27th March 2018
Written for all my friends who suffer from depression
CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION
Now to recollect Happy Christmas Days,
While raising up daughters studying in school
So enthusiastic, also in craze
to decorate Christmas Tree! Kids cheerful.
Going on preparation, children in glee.
Candles to glow, shining stars to twinkle.
Putting Santa Claus beside Christmas Tree,
Smiling face of Santa showing wrinkle.
Me and my daughters to tie long strong string.
Small brass-made golden jingle bells in knot,
swinging swift with soft sound as they could bring
to welcome guests big Christmas cake being brought.
Reminiscence yields past Christmas story.
Now lone life ruminates bygone glory.
12/15/17
Third Place
'Christmas Story' Contest by Eve Roper
Third Place
'YOUR CHOICE ANY SEASON OR FESTIVE VERSE' contest by Brian Strand
We are the visible manifestation of a much deeper design.
Like the tip of an iceberg most of what we are is out of view.
Science tells us that only four percent of what makes up the Universe is visible to us, ninety six percent is unseen and unknown.
Science calls the ninety six percent unseen, dark matter and dark energy. They call it dark because they have no clue what either is.
Like the tip of a sharks fin if viewed by the unknowing would give no hint of what's below. Our lives, rules and being are ruled by the tip we see. All that we think we know comes from the visible four percent! A deeper dive would
illuminate ultimate reality, and all that we are and know would change.
It's the blind leading the blind in the world of the visible, and, we can only see a fraction of the visible. What then, in fact, do we really know at all?
When the corporeal turns to dust, when the four percent ceases to exist the ninety six simply ruminates and corporeally manifest itself some time/place else.
This is all just postulation you see, unlike the word of others who'll tell you how things must certainly be.
First day at college,
Encounter with a girl,
Gazes are exchanged,
Heart pounds,
Clock ceases to move,
Nothing happened further,
Goes back home and ruminates with a hidden smile,
Love is so pure and beautiful,
Everything turns fresh,
Even dark passenger makes way for geniality,
Aloofness takes the back seat,
Sweet dreams are aplenty,
Everything was near perfect until,
Mother exclaims, Wake up! It is 6 o'clock.
Two palm shape a bowl for wound.
My mouth is a big hole of cry
Ruminates in the dark the sorrow
My legs flint-stone-
The hammers of night sparked
The cry from my chest
The sleepers of the graveyard heard it.
This is the hell where heart melted.
I see the dark, cleaves the silence
From ear to ear, like an old warrior,
Grinding the memory, agitating sadness,
Striping a heart of its leaves
The shadow lays his head on the wall.
The ravens are cheerful.
On October the little squirrels come
to trade their love for hazelnuts.
Love warms up the lonely hearts.
Love is crematory of loneliness.
Love is the crematory of my heart.
Two palm shape a bowl for wound.
My heart's stitches itch,
Forgetfulness is the heart drug.
Tomorrow I shall be different.
I shall be good as new
Written by © Fatima Nusairat
In stillness of her spirit she sits there
with all her prowess she manipulates.
Her fingers’ ripples in coldest water
replenish mind and soul that ruminates.
Playing in nocturne, she’s being witnessed
by her governess . The simplicity...
Her portraits that adduce virtues she possessed -
laconic and clear view of chastity.
Oh, renaissance woman, you shine on top,
as you incandesce in mind love of arts!
You’re a czar bringing our decorum up-
women’s pride… imbue modesty in heart.
In the silence of our heart, we listen
in these memorabilia… you remain.
Oct. 14, 2013 2.15pm
©2013by Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Second Place
Contest: Sofonisba Anguissola-A contemporary Sonnet for a Renaissance
Woman-2nd in
the series
Judged: 2/4/2014
Sponsor: Poet Cyndi MacMillan
In the ultimate I ponder and resonates
Sporadic melancholy treading thoughts
Void pneumatic aspirations that perspire in nothingness
The peripheral space spurts erratic waves
Spewed fantasy and ejaculates conglomeration
Palpitation of erroneous premature baby
That which is not flushed down is a street arching
Vivid escapades flowed sluggish and sticky
Unwinding terrestrial route it’s a dead end
Never to end but in illusion
Ruminates and castigated spits vomits
Miasma inhalation that draws petrified lunatics
Kindled joyful cleave less than platonic
Lost in haziness of pleasurable moments causing love anguish
Thrusting Warm Velvet labial interior
Sensuousness mesmerized at anatomical fission and fusion
Malodorous soaked sweat-draped dripping bodies
Enclosed, staffed and steam simmering moisture
Equivocal musty air radiated from euphoric entanglement
Perplexed awe mouth agape
Tonight, the full moon blooms
And foils the looming gloom.
The remnant doom from noon
Has lost it's bullish tune.
And embraces dusk's eerie cool.
The village square it illuminates
Arena of moonlight tales of late
The little ones gather and wait
While the elderly engage in debates
And the goats noisily ruminates
The bright night, lights sparks
Of bliss and joy in trees' barks
The tall iroko whistle in parks
Where young lovers end their tracks
And skimpy skirts lose their tacks
The son of perdition frets unsure
The thief in the night fears exposure
The pirate sailor steers from ashore
The night fisherman denied action
For the kind light bathes the ocean
Tonight, the full moon beams proud
As the town crier makes his round
Belting forth a piercing sound.
While the town's chorus echoes loud
The stage is set for the yearning crowd
Merely to scratch the surface
Parker’s clogged nib ruminates
“How annoying, scratch and scribble..”
My horizontal paradise lost, marred
by the occasion drool coming from Goliath.
Laying down, often, I roll from side to side a cat’s paw
for the skin sack above me
ah…I am beyond maudlin
I am blue, dilly dilly.
Blue like the veins in the digited palms
which twirl and whirl me across endless scapes of white.
Oh, how I long for a brighter surface, a deeper well.
Ah well, so full of Dear’s and Sirs and Madam’s
that an occasional To Whom It May Concern causes
twitters of laughter from the godhead.
I would dance with the pretty pencil, if I could, but
stand alone.. if only.. if only… I pray to the breath of life
above for a pen stand, and perhaps pink paper?
Destined only to stand or fall at its will,
I mourn.
I wonder what the paper thinks?
Sincerely,
Parker
*The Parker Pen Company is a manufacturer of pens,
founded in 1888 by George Safford Parker
in Janesville, Wisconsin, United States.
And he stands apart, cold
While the world wassailed and reveled
In the full glare of the light
Till dusk comes beckoning.
He shrouds from the awkward embraces
A language in plethoric display.
His frame slanted, he observes.
From vantage angle, he gawks.
What endues them such ecstasy?
He mutedly ruminates
Did we not attain the same feat?
He self-chides, raspingly.
The concern of sea-fish with dry land
Paints the image of his indifference.
While the play of celebration ensues,
The boy-man stares and sighs.
His cogitations ferry him to the road ahead
Queries of 'what now', the signs spelt.
Transfixed but detached,
He pondered tomorrow's fate for all.
He shivered with dismay
And fended off a tear.
What reads the fate of the soldier ants
When they march sun-wards?
Who aids the infant cheetah
That was birthed deformed?
While his peers wassailed and reveled.
In the full glare of the world
He looked on, frigid, still, anxious.
Feet there, soul afar.
A tinge of relief, his sole solace.
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