In my poems would be found colorants,
For the foul-smelling deodorants:
An advance interception of rants;
I’m dealing with human beings, not plants!
With Poetry busy like The Ants,
To deodorants shall be more grants…
In my poems exist, too, colorants
And when they find the space sibilants,
Their piloting pen Phonetician
By linguistics made Sound Magician…
Here and there purposed attacks of fact,
No doubt, for the sake of impact;
Yet, with Candor a Palpable Pact
If not the case, would have cons packed.
Categories:
sibilants, imagination, inspiration, poetry, words,
Form: Rhyme
The salt of the earth
The sands of the sea
The stars in the sky
~ all sibilants be
Categories:
sibilants, earth, sea, sound, stars,
Form: Rhyme
LeftBrain uses words
like communal tools
and autonomous weapons
While RightBrain invites rhythms and patterns of sound
and silence
like poetry
and lyrics,
sometimes angry and frightened turbulence
sometimes loving and reassuring sibilants
murmuring Earth's quietness.
Of these,
LeftBrain weaponed words
cannot be truly free
speech to unwarned
so unprotected
listening libertarians,
messages fired against militant non-listeners
already armed to demolish
voices unprepared for retribution.
Healthy tools become deadly weapons
when used against
those they were transparently designed
to vulnerably serve
strength of LeftBrain truth
as RightBrain's chiming beauty.
Without these two or three,
depending on how you see
weapons and tools,
wealth and health,
truth and beauty
held proactively together,
free speech is any message
from any medium
tragically unfree.
Categories:
sibilants, beauty, earth, freedom, health,
Form: Political Verse
Smile your love across my life
Hold my face inside your thoughts
Talk with fingers on my spine
Whisper your lips over my longing
Fold your warmth around my ice
And speak with words so soundless
"'ana 'uhibbouk
Je t'aime
Ich liebe dich
I love you"
I spell your sibilants breathlessly
Until you arch me to a crescent
Screaming your name in silence
Under your fingers I come alive
Your name, love, your passion
Imploding explosively
Categories:
sibilants, beautiful, how i feel,
Form: Free verse
Cathedral
I walk in the cathedral, its vast space
is quiet is like the immense silence
of a deep and gentle snow storm.
light through the stain glass windows glorifies
the sense of peace.
In the distance a book is dropped
the flat echo sounds far and small.
I hear the shuffle of people
in another nave of this place,
they talk one to another
In booming sibilants that make no sense, but echo.
An old woman prays in the pew near me,
We are so very far from the chancellery,
She flashes me looks of scorn.
I feel she knows I don't pray
and has seen I did not genuflect.
High up amongst polished rose wood
I hear slight noises echo as a man
moves papers that he carries.
Very softly, a low sweet sound fills this place
I feel joy and I am full of tears.
The sound stops. silence rings like crystal,
to be fractured by the opening thunder
of the Bach D minor toccata and fugue,
which fills this place and me with sound.
Then I am crying and desolate.
because it is quiet again.
If a place like this can exist does it mean that there is a god.
Categories:
sibilants, allah, philosophy, prayer, spiritual,
Form: Free verse