Crystal ball, thy spirit.
Cast thee a mighty spell.
Vision sacred, let's hear it.
Voice of mine, pell-mell.
Tress and trawler, set thy hooks.
River bed to dredge.
Recipes we learned in books?
Formation wide wedge.
Coal, control, bell toll, sail, soul.
Down the delta wide.
Wasteland, when you set a goal.
Woe, when you betide.
Chicken farm, thy tender.
Politics, tough thy game.
Doubtless, O staunch defender.
Catabothron, quay, claim.
Current, channel. Atmosphere.
Particles, spread out.
Cloud cover, sere or severe?
Cannibal, red rout!
Trickle, stickleback. Code crack.
Fortresses, thy stack.
Under attack? Snicker-snack.
Flak ahead? Shellac.
Yawndrift, yucca, yellow eyes.
Oceanic rift.
Circumspect the council's cries?
Petrify, wood. Gift.
Bank, holding of money.
Tornado, spinning fast.
Clown, well, life is funny.
Mead honey, my good ghast?
Crystal ball, thy spirit.
Cast thee a mighty spell.
Vision sacred, let's hear it.
Voice of mine, pell-mell.
Tress and trawler, set thy hooks.
River bed to dredge.
Recipes we learned in books?
Formation, wild wedge.
Coal, control, bell toll, sail, soul.
Down the delta wide.
Wasteland, when you set a goal.
Woe, when you betide.
Chicken farm, thy tender.
Politics, tough thy game.
Doubtless, O defender.
Katabothron, quay, claim.
Current, channel. Atmosphere.
Particles, spread out.
Cloud cover, sere or severe?
Cannibal, red rout!
Trickle, stickleback. Code crack.
Fortresses, thy stack.
Under attack? Dinner pack.
Flak ahead? Shellac.
Yawndrift, yucca, yellow eyes.
Oceanic rift.
Circumspect the council's cries?
Petrify, wood. Gift.
Bank, holding of money.
Tornado, spinning fast.
Clown, well, life is funny.
Mead honey, my good ghast?
Your arms be the gentle dandelion's shoot
Swaying and slicing through the reeds of grassland
A part of it and part of me wither and brut
Without the candor of your courteous hand
As your petal waft with an autumnal gust
The cynthia shone in a languid sky; sere and pale
As these fragments of dearing love gone into dust
There's a shadow of darkest crest upon my lovely vale
And how sternly the monal bides my lovely vale
Ravine without a rill and heart without a love
Who'd scarcely hold my arms such weary and frail
While monal wanders within a twilight grove
My clauses stating DOS/DONTS' dye
My smile' peep winking else whole laugh so wild
My fearful feet walking away instead of reversed silent arms hanging over
My cheek panting softly with dimples as a choice for lips filming tour without guide
My frown in odds speaking record conversely to gaze felicitating mime so deeper
My calls ever seen preference to beeps unnoticed much of returns
My text back from home suggesting chat paints factory waste of funs
My life-- sere melting love for convenient fantasy
My plead guilty for crown amidst apologies needed a bit
My pistol jilting for feedback alternating firing training section's celibacy
My jams too long off beat contrary to freestyles solo refrain's treat
My grace of its will did see mercy
instead faith of its peace do measure
My silence than necessary spending leisure as a substitute for words unspoken that rule treasure
My heart that will never say goodbye
But what have you plant?
Upon the hallowed ground past midnight sighs
'Neath trembling yews and tombstones cold and sere
Did I espy, as the tempest began to rise
A maiden clothed in spectral white appears
Her ghostly raiment danced upon the restless air
Her visage pale with sorrow finely drawn
Betwixt the graves she glided into our ghastly affair
Her presence enthralling as the coming dawn
Within her hand a missive she pressed
Gloved fingers clad in evening’s formal hue
She whispered with the wind, she, a soul distressed
“Seek thou the attic there thy fate is due”
Anon the gale did whisk her form away
(Formerly known as Mrs. Emily)
And left me alone to ponder till the day
Epilogue:
After this wraithlike wedding of our souls
I cannot abjure this vision
In my mind it rolls and rolls as it goes
December rains have dragged last, lingering leaves
down into litter. Sodden almond-casks
that once bore kernels, strewn discarded masks,
repose redundant. Thoughts are threadbare sleeves
devoid of comfort. Like a lonely cello,
the wind whips fitfully about its tasks.
A chaffinch flicks a fruitless shell, and asks:
the year must disappear to sere, to yellow?
Expecting legible patterns in dispersal,
she wishes worldwide winter worked for her,
have secret feelings yield the universal.
The nutshell, now inert, helps her infer
that life must die, but strangely, must prevail.
December’s just the belly of the whale.
One glorious, sun-drenched, thirsty December day,
I sat, numbed with the agedness of a visitor, and
Fumed eloquently with joy for the benefit of the
Seine – the ointment of Paris.
Somewhere along the gritty line laid bare by sere weeds
Of winter,
A restless tranter eulogised:
“Ce est Paris!”
From the whistling, grating metro to the navel of
Elevated Eiffel, the tall, metallic maiden,
I saw frantic beauty.
I inhaled the peace of the atrium, sighting
Our Dame....
“Ce est Paris!”
The voice, girly, and with the earnestness
Of chivalrous youth, came again, cold and soft,
Just the way of a sprightly winter.
Turning, I saw Paris in full nakedness of her beauty, like
A priceless fresco hanging from the sky.
“Do you need company?” The tranter anglicised her French.
In one gulp I swallowed the pride of Paris.
“Hmmm!” I grunted, wincing loudly from brio,
Counting my woes should I plod away to the red light areas,
“Give me Shakespeare and Company”.
Step into splintered sunlight
broken beams flash
across bare, silhouetted flesh.
Above
Father-Sun forever scintillates,
a deep and ancient ember,
giving ceaselessly to all
wanting nothing in return.
The trees, they dance
in verdant splendor,
leaning lazily, they sigh
with utter contentment.
Their leaves, a chorus
of flapping green,
each one moving to its own rhythm,
closely listening to the wind sing.
White stars illuminate my eyes
and echo through my soul.
Vibrations shudder down my spine,
utterly with rapture so
cosmic and cyclopean,
spinning through the wheel-vortex
of my open amethyst crown.
And with sweet natural bliss, at last,
under holy bodhi tree of life --
copper-domed and ancient,
grown hoary and sere
through countless millennia --
my buddha-mind will yet arise,
through the heavens,
past the skies,
and slowly gaze
with wisdom eyes
upon the all-expansive Whole.
This worldly plane is just a school,
a dream where all is mind.
Be present, aware, and most of all,
compassionate and kind.
For everything in this world is one,
the Universe is inside us.
If pure of heart, we seek our truth,
the Universe shall guide us
Everything needs a rest- the machine - a mirror- an
astronomical chart or graph- a sometimes glass?.
Like the fun even though dynamo elsewhen or blue
or black- glee elsewhere or G- clamp?.
I tell you something is hither or thither elsewhere or how
the world is not even aware of damn or the water blue
splashing on the eyelids of some mermaids for instance?,
Just let wait and see the sky is still weathering and sere
and flealy withering?.
Will the body mind when the spirit needs a rest or at least
a fine adornment?.
Or sometimes the beautiful flowers at the campaign
secretariat?.
The lock of auburn hair flipping one way
then another over his smooth forehead
bearing the proud visage of youth undaunted
by vistas only dimly perceived…
His portfolio cuts into his side at
the sweet whistle of the train
a train that will take him away ~
away from those sere plains o'er which
cattle and slaughterers yet rumble
In the silent, shadowed halls of night,
Where whispers dance with ghostly light,
Lies the realm where death does tread,
A sovereign land, where all fear to head.
Cloaked in darkness, a figure so still,
Its presence alone, enough to chill.
With bony fingers, cold and sere,
It beckons souls, both far and near.
In its gaze, eternity lies,
A void as deep as starless skies.
It speaks in silence, a language old,
Telling tales of the brave and bold.
Yet, in its wake, a truth profound,
Where life is lost, new life is found.
For in the heart of darkest fears,
Lies the seed of a thousand years.
So fear not the end, the final sleep,
For death is but a door, a leap.
Into the arms of the unknown,
Where seeds of our deeds are sown.
The day after a storm
shades the skies in blackness,
shoutings of rain subside
in the blueness of day
where puffy clouds reside.
The day after a storm
quenches the scorched, sere earth,
clamor of birds is heard –
a chaotic chorale –
theater of absurd
The day after a storm
betrays the Southern sun,
the sad bruises hidden
in amorphous phases
peeking through, unbidden.
The day after a storm,
smectic layers emerge
iridescent yet clear,
suffusing the soulful,
coaxing Sol to appear.
sere
summer
languishes,
encouraging
anticipated,
tempestuous.
blusterous
autumn
rain
Written: September 08, 2023
Bite Size Poem No71 Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
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On distant coasts, oceans often rise and flood.
Every wave abides by the route of the prior one.
Squat idle loops on sere soil of whale crimson blood
Every strenuous stride is brisk and deftly done,
A foggy crawl on a dreary, windswept cruise crud.
couldn't wouldn't shouldn't
can't won't shan't
deeply rooted like a tree plant
not free as the butterfly
winging gracefully into the sky
or the honeybee
gathering nectar to feed
from flower to flower in the spring
guarded by his painful sting
stationary and still
branches bow by winds will
wishing to roam far and wide
dreaming in the starlit sky
bloom blossoms bloom
seeding in the wind to zoom
far and wide magic seed
spread the essence of life from me
decades fade and branches bare
hollow ghost with death sere
life stuck on ground to never venture
now wandering soul eternal adventure
couldn't wouldn't shouldn't
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