My home, my quiet refuge, kept in perpetual watch
On the outside pristine walls
Immaculate surface reflecting sky’s light
Misery coloured by blue and white
A little porch with a bench feels almost amicable
Please have a seat, but don’t make yourself too comfortable
Quiet as it kept, in my own lone familiar way I’m hiding what’s vulnerable. What if they see…?
Plants that shrivelled and died, under-watered or perchance overwatered, flooded with choices
Stairs that requite every misstep with a chorus of plaintive voices
A gash on the ceiling, arousing tension between two puzzles, both equally appealing
To fill the vacant spaces or keep them sealed
That one room where everything meets and at times, startlingly enough, disappear without a trace
Unspoken fears that pressed against the walls left peeled paint in its place
And askew bedside lamp, a night time witness to my despair
I could have possibly taken joy in owning it. That seems about right. But instead, I’ll just give them blue and white
Of course, love has preferences:
I prefer eyes sort of like, yours.
Misty at times,
And at others, deeply dark and
Startlingly invasive – no point
In trying to keep secrets from such
Penetrating eyes. Then there are those
Moments of unsettling absence. I attempt
Vainly to enter your silence, gain needed
Access to mysterious inner parts kept
From me...I try to cross the meridians
Keeping souls necessarily private, where
One meditates and prays in solemnity. My need to
For safe familiarity, juxtaposed with
With strange planets and alien landscapes
Each mortal possesses and senses to
Sacredly guard. Yet I track your disturbing
Aloofness. As a hound on the scent. Into
Whirlpools of privacy where no uninvited
Sojourner has right to venture. No one
Should attempt to know another that entirely,
That consuming. Yes, love has preferences. Like
Your dainty bell ears, and adorable ski nose --
And very large feet~ all for the next poem.
PRECOCIOUS IMAGES
power
to astonish
primped& glistening
closely engraved
in a
narcissistic
preciousness
subtle
laced with
arrogance
substantial
boasts
engaging conceit
in structured
fantasticals
initially
an
aptitude for colour
in a
complex tangle
touchingly
inscribed
with a typical
contemplation
of
startlingly
delight
with
prodigious
curiosity
which
lingers
in the mind
so
palpable &
infectious
in
subtle
ingenuity
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
A Poem-A-Day:
And today, by the way,
I so badly wanted to envision a sunlit sail,
the sunlight on the sail that has just manifested like a dream sifting through a partially clouded sky, perhaps...
or maybe
the solitary sail is under a startlingly sharp blue sky that is cloudless.
And maybe the wind really whipped the colorless sail. Or it was almost still as it smoothly slid by, like the evening star cast across the heavens slips so quietly, boldly across the night...to become the morning star.
I so wished for the sailor to be very distant, although he sailed too close...
"Stripped of a physical body,
[individualistic] mind stands naked,
revealed startlingly
for what it has always been;
the architect of our [shared] reality."
Sogyal Rinpoche
Stripped of a spiritual mind,
bodies lie nakedly dis-potentiated,
undominated,
indomitable,
undomesticatable,
de-commodified,
startlingly unveiled
for why we have always evolved here
in regenerative Earth's life-giving environment,
Historically revolved
and culturally regenerated
through DNA bicameral dynamic reiterating spirals,
bilateral nature/spirit animation,
humane/divine co-inspirations
Unfolding
refolding
prefolding
dipolar co-arising folds
strings
frames
paradigmatic fields
Composing
recomposing
discomposing
disposing
uncomposing
precomposing
this fractal-binomial structure
for systemic ecological restructuring
of each moment's regenerative/degenerative
empowering/disempowering
enlightening/dissociating potential
Ego/Eco-systemic rebecoming,
becoming
unbecoming
precoming,
coming
Autonomously stripped
atomic synergy,
embodied longing
within multiculturing waves
of co-arising integrity,
naked mind belonging
She is young, startlingly pretty. He notices her when she takes a chair.
Be with you in a few, he tells her.
Look at the samples if you like.
She picks up photos of his art and begins thumbing through it.
Her skin is exquisitely beautiful.
He does not see this until she is behind the curtain with him.
She hops up on the table and looks at him with solemn amber eyes.
Did you see something you like?
She shakes her head ‘no’.
Her skin is virginal. He feels weird about this.
What do you want?
A new butterfly, an original. Something you have never done.
He nods.
Lots of markings, she said. Details.
Would anyone mind? He asks her gently.
Tears form but she blinks them away.
Not anymore.
Wordlessly the tattoo artist picks up his tools and begins
Determined to make her the most elegant butterfly he has ever created.
Cunning and tricky for a youth of today
I was a fool to fall for your playful way
I should cut my visit but I don’t know how.
For your furious apology is a startlingly wow.
Quit looking at pink stars with obvious full fair.
You are notoriously vain, this I can share.
I should run from the hills, saving my soul too.
But alas I am prowling and howling joy for you.
Wolf in your mind with dainty magic caravan.
I am your minion, flapping in the sunlight of flair.
Sizzling for your touch, sparkling for you, my man.
My zippy happy magi, luring my soul back to your lair.
Written 7-11-2020
Contest Lipogram
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Flowers are special;
even weeds often have
startlingly beautiful blossoms
that make one forget about allergies
till the first sniffle
or watery eye…
So, what are we to conclude?
That something pleasing to
the eye can, sadly, be little more
than an optical lie--
As with every rare
and appealing scent:
not all, necessarily, Venus
or Clark Kent….
Things I fear
Bobcat’s cry, toddler’s sniffle, quick run of a mouse
Startlingly startling
Things I also fear…
IV pokes, trying when you have no clue.
Going blind.
No basis for some
History on others.
My grandchildren are growing up faster than dandelions on a summer’s day.
One second they are pulling themselves up on couches,
and falling on their diapered bottoms.
The next minute they are going to the mall with friends.
They grow startlingly quickly.
You drink a sip of coffee, and they are graduating from high school.
Cherish every single moment with your children.
Apologize for every infraction even if it is not your fault.
Grovel, debase yourself, ask for forgiveness no matter how crazy this sounds.
Throw your ego to the wolves.
Do whatever you have to do to spend every second you can
with your grandchildren.
So they will know you.
So they can love you, and you can lavish them with grandparent love.
They will get married and move away before you drink that lemonade.
They grow like dandelions on a summer’s day.
The Night, what a secretive creature
Dark,
Mysterious,
Eerie,
Each a tantalizing feature
It crawls in, from behind
Like shadow,
Like ghost,
Like intruder,
Throws cover and makes blind
Though creepy, it fascinates
With spiders,
With scorpions,
With serpents,
Resurrects and animates
The firmament, covered with chandeliers
Radiant,
Aflame,
Aglow,
Startlingly each appears
The desert dwellers, I envy
Favored,
Blessed,
Fortunate,
For the starry Night, they see
The moss stands out magnificently
A neon green, outshining other greens
Serving her oak and cottonwood heroes well,
Helping the woodlands to live their happy truth
Softly covering her well-buried roots.
Startlingly pretty, appreciated by artists
Written about by poets.
Showing herself kindly,
Helping the woodlands to rejoice in her fantastic magic.
Beautiful, wonderful, glorious verdant moss.
Chopping wood sounds like shots - gunshots.
If they are done right, and these are.
Chop. Chop.Chop. Shot. Shot. Shot.
I am outside, writing in the sun.
My hands are startlingly warm.
A sense of well-being surrounds me.
A pink aura has me in her grasp.
The wood chopping sound gets my attention for a second.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
I look up at a weird angle and there is a rainbow reflection in my glasses.
The sound has stopped.
I thank God that it is not gunshots. It is only wood chops.
I hear them during hunting season here, and I guess every two weeks or so at school.
I do not want to get used to them.
It is bad enough that my students have.
They no longer look up.
For a friend
I rise, on my strong wings
On breezes of summer night
Gales of early morning
Soft breathes of late afternoons
Gliding on this wide kite
Rustling of feathers
My eyes everywhere and nowhere
Seeing it all, observing complexity
Nothing, nothing can bring me down
Make me fall from heights
Highs, my Shangri-La
Euphoric in my invincibility
This cyclone hits startlingly hard
Reduces proud wings to fringes
But never, ever will bring me down
My heart beats its heart every time
***
January 24, 2017
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