Oh nightingale,
you rise like a small anointing in the dusk,
your voice a trilling psalm of love and lament.
You carry the mystique of prayer on your wings,
a feathered liturgy drifting toward the listening sky.
Oh nightingale,
you sing from the chalice of stillness where God whispers,
your syrinx a cipher of creation teaching silence to awaken.
You carry ancient wisdom in your throat,
a feathered oracle scripting prophecy on the wind.
[ Standard Contest : Write a Beautiful Shadorma
Sponsor: Constance la France
Placing : Second ]
_______________
“Actually, if you don’t dip into the Soup, you might not meet Shakespeare and he won’t be able to taste your verses.” Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This soup tastes
like a fancy hat
bewitching
alluring
beauties and beasts swirling heat
pulchritudinous
Slick smooth soup
papyrus inky
taste chuckling
lyrical
luscious sages engaging
scripting evolving
Nourishes
Shakespeare’s ladle dips
readers gape
poets stirring
dramatically press keys
flourish stanzas bold
My veins black as burned psalms,a river of rot running under my ribs.
Each heartbeat bleeds ink scripting serpents through scrolls of my skin.
Call me the chalice of corruption chaliced by curses,chaliced by craving.
My blood boils with broken commandments,whispering "drink me" to the dark.
Heaven turned it's hose of light on me once and the flame got darker.
My pulse pounds poison;it drums dirges for angels who drowned in desire.
The marrow in me mutinies,begging for the beauty of decay.
When I bleed earth drinks deeply and dreams in sickness and silk.
I baptize myself in my own bloodstream and scream Amen through the aneurysm.
My shadow sweats- blackwater veins bursting hymns of hell and hallelujah.
Skewed Political Common Sense
Today’s weird zeitgeist,
Lived streamed everyday,
Awaits its Emmy:
Historically scripting,
Well played, power mongering:-
This may sound musky,
Or like a well-trumped-up scheme;
But it is all true:
Click on Breaking News, and see
These bold words’ reality:-
They’re shutting down
The Department Of Education;
And the learned lesson here,
Is the poor’s lost emancipation:
For the rich, it’s a positive situation:-
A jet-racing,
etch-a-sketches
the clean shook sky.
Scripting in exhausted letters,
that are to tired
to stay.
Today's weird zeitgeist,
lived streaming every day,
awaits its Emmy:
Historically, scripting
well played powering mongering:-
Musky history,
trumped-up and well-acted out;
penned and recorded:-
Many evils have emmies;
Check recorded history:-
Reading history,
is different from living the tale;
truth never dies out:-
Click on Breaking News and see,
These bold words' reality!
Mere words are placed upon the page
Where ink conjoins with pulp.
And higher themes than tongues can wage
Are sought in parsing prose.
Language is the mind’s attempt
To cobble thoughts from words,
Yet seeks discourse on things exempt
From rationale’s employ.
‘Tis not a boast upon the breast,
That burden to un-bear,
But hope that scripting at its best
Does speak without a breath.
Written By: D. Collins 11/13/24
I wish I could wake up in the morning to peachy clean.
Where my nightmares have subsided to normal dreams.
When just going to work isn't a monumental task.
Twenty-four hours of breathing is all that I ask.
When the brain doesn't sleep, nor does the body.
I even keep writing while seated on the potty.
I wish I coulda have done something else.
But, God gave me this. And made it "Def".
So, I sit at the table scripting each one out.
Hoping I'm in favor when they are read aloud.
In the eyes of God, I appear to be okay.
I wish I coulda showed others t how to find their way.
Leaves of Lilith, fall like butterflies
as I slither in souls, secluded by time ~
where treacherous tulips still mourn the death of magnolia moon,
hidden within scentless sepals, which couldn't be their evergreen anchor...
Hear the echoes of grieving dawn,
whose tamed scars forgot to unfurl my truths beyond memories ~
scripting me like misplaced intuition, surfing on those whispering waves,
for I've always blossomed upon heartaches, in gardens of metaphors ~
hibernating as the turmeric taste of melting sun...
I'm the untouched ink of sin ~
swirling across silver patience ebbing along the starlit peacock-golds,
where daffodil dryads throb in ancient dyes and I'm caramelised...
above sonnets soaked in skeletal promises,
my reason rests within wisdom, an ageless mirage...
“No costume can make one more beautiful than a sweet smile. So, smile as much as you can. It will loosen your muscles and lighten others’ hearts.” ~ By Poet
Try to spread some cheer with a happy smile,
Giving a feeling that life is worthwhile.
Smile lightens the tedium of the mile,
Warming many hearts without any guile.
By creating in others a sweet smile,
We're scripting for us a better profile.
A sweet smile can make everything look bright,
Igniting the dark world with dazzling light.
It can lift everyone from sorrows blight,
Making the murky lives filled with delight.
A smile can brighten even the dark night,
Removing from all, sorrow’s harsh onslaught.
A smile can calm even a troubled sea,
Bringing such benign peace to you and me.
I stare at myself through a display case,
Defaming the shape and molds that I hold.
Capture my face through a lens,
Posting yet another layer that I’ll have to tear.
Scripting these dreams so they’re easy to speak, sequenced in panels for the risk of retreat.
I document my worth on compliancy,
So tell me, please?! What’s my score for the week?
I catalog life on things that don’t matter. Lying beneath the veneer of glassy chatter where my forgotten intentions lay splattered.
Told me he liked
the edited version
so I never bothered
to wise him up
spent my time between the two
I laughed knowing
I was the only one who
knew what was
up
but when he said
when he said
Even though I love you
don't think I can take your hand
you get off on tricking me aint no way
to treat a man
gathering words
and scripting things
like we don't know whats
going on
we aint got know commitments
you just need to think
you doing wrong
There is a poem everywhere,
Some can be found in the lair,
Poems are like the morning sun,
Scripting them brings much fun.
There’s a poem in the night,
Some can be found in the light,
Poems come like an inner voice,
Accepting to listen is a choice.
There’s a poem that calls us from slumber,
A symphony that resounds in our chamber,
A message in every line,
A gloom or a shine.
There’s a poem that looks into the mirror,
Some see tomorrow’s horror,
Poems open the door to the poet’s heart,
The unseen pulls the cart.
March 21, 2024.
It took me years from now to see
I loved the same rain that was drowning me
My early days were filled with joy,
I used to bloom and grin in glee
But O' see how lost I am now!
Why is everything so blur and bleak?
They see no hindrance, no scars
But no one knows what's behind the bars!
Years ago I lost myself and haven't found me yet
I am not who I used to be
And still I am tenderly scripting myself wrong-
To find back who I once used to be.
Leaving yesterday behind,
Casting my net into today’s sea,
Launching into the deep,
Awakening sleeping hope.
Adding my colour to the day’s portrait,
Finding my feet on its ground,
Scripting my verses into its symphony,
Strengthening feeble hope.
Finding a door through the night,
Searching for a pathway through twilight shadows,
Dispersing recalcitrant darkness,
Chauffeured by rejuvenated hope.
Tunneling through the gloom,
Looking beyond the shrivelled meadow,
Symphony of redemption from heaven’s portals,
Soaring on the wings of hope.
January 19, 2024.
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