The art was most masterful on the dark canvas.
It seemed as though done by a gigantic genius
Colours clashed, popped, hopped, splashed, and slashed like soap bubbles.
Shades, strips, and spots with secret sacred stateliness
Hidden puddles-puffed puzzles, troubles, and struggles...
Like shade-stung sunlight, there's sweet sadness behind smiles.
Rays of fate between the skin and the skull are seen.
Though feet are not seen, legs seem to walk many miles.
Where have the eyelashes gone? Have sleepless eyes been?
Mysteries of history are seen like smoke fog.
Why a black-white amalgamation on sky peaks?
Is there an unseen spring-summer transition clog?
Lo, each paint-pattern on the canvas of time speaks
Art, in its heart, bleeds with love for each little soul.
Each little soul, in turn, conflates with the cosmic whole.
The Night beguiles and bewitches me
as shadow deepen and lengthen
The moon shyly peeps out at me
then bursts out in splendid stateliness.
Now clouds drift across its beaming face
causing shadows to change their shape
I see first a unicorn dancing in the night
Followed by a trio of old haggard witches.
The night sure belong to unworldly things
goblins, elves, pixies hobnob in its darkness
and shadows leap and dance in moonlight
rays of gold, silver and blood deep reds.
Soon. too soon the night will give way
and all the secrets hidden by darkness
will slip away and leave me wondering
were they ever displayed in the darkness?
What a zenith of stateliness is ego mine!
Illuminating my worth, strength and charm divine;
Positioned politely it does marvels many,
When sharpened like knife or sword, harms it brings plenty...!
Enriching the attributes of my inner mind,
Keeping me socially accepted and refined;
If clipped and trimmed and efficaciously maintained,
The purpose of my life, here on earth, is attained...!
Ego left on non-channelized, is a drunk ape,
Moving mind to motifs adverse, it does escape;
Ego shorn shines like summer sun dazzling with light,
The earth turns heaven for me; I act with foresight...!
If ego is pure, I am born in life and truth,
New baptism of heavenly waters does me sooth;
Life flows flawlessly fluent like crystal-clear streams,
Guilelessness, like constellation, within me gleams...!
11 July 2022
Ego shorn, here now reborn Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
gold wrapped royalty
prowls around in stateliness ~
jungles shake in awe
11 April 2022
Wild Animal Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
PS Syllable Counter
Often winter is very harsh and cold,
and yet its frozen trees are draped
in white snow and that's charming and exciting;
look for the blooming snow flowers towards morning.
Other seasons echo with mellow sounds,
many are the songbirds that create harmony;
in winter we may see a raven with frosted wings,
he won't make it and will probably die of agony.
Only pine trees and holly shrubs are green,
such stateliness never whithers and is still seen,
lovelier they seen decorated with the trembling stars;
on clear nights, I sat under them and dreamt of Mars.
For many flurries of snow are delightful to watch and admire,
but it's not a joy for a shivering and frail beggar in much dire;
he may need that warm blanket to survive the bitter cold for long;
get him one and he'll find another spot to sleep and stay strong.
Wear a heavy jacket and venture in the blanket of thick snow
to help a stranded puppy trembling and feeling alone;
he'll wiggle his tail and bark happily but doesn't know
that someone is looking for him and wants to take him home.
The third little pig knew how to pick
When making his abode of brick.
Of course, he chose it ‘cause it’s strong
And on that count, he wasn’t wrong…
But also, it has street appeal,
A stateliness that can conceal
Whatever’s happening inside,
For upright living is implied.
I grew up in a brick-built house
And live in one now with my spouse
So all my life I’ve felt secure.
When I’m at home, I know for sure
That no one will invade my space.
No huffs or puffs can e’er deface
The sturdy bricks on proud display
That keep those big bad wolves away.
Along the road on my way
I looked up, walking away
Boughs of flowers so bright
Were a heavenly sight
Hanging , from the lined trees
With zooming around of bees
The passing cars threw fumes
Left unaffected were the blooms
I'd forgotten about this flower
To ignite the spirit it has the power
Some trees were plump and short
The others simply shot
If these Wordsworth had seen
Before 'Daffodils' another poem would have been
These trees have lesser leaves
Through the boughs the sun sieves
These light boughs are devoid of fragrance
But stateliness is of great eminence
Through these I'd drive again and again
Although I may seem insane
I just adore them
I always bring home one on a stem.
Along the road on my way
I looked up, walking away
Boughs of yellow flowers so bright
They were a heavenly sight
Hanging , from the lined trees
With zooming around of bees
The passing cars threw fumes
Left unaffected seemed the blooms
I'd forgotten about this flower
To ignite the spirit it has the power
Some trees were plump and short
The others simply shot
If these Wordsworth had seen
Before 'Daffodils' another poem would have been
These trees have lesser leaves
Through the boughs the sunlight sieves
These light boughs are devoid of fragrance
But stateliness is of great eminence
Through these I'd drive again and again
Although I may seem insane
I just adore them
I always try to bring home one bough on a stem
But sometimes I let them be
As they are so stately.
There stands a lofty tree
beckoning to lovebirds
whilst it shades wildflowers
and dreamers resting 'neath its
majestically revered stateliness,
portrayed by famed artists alike,
written farthermost poetic essence
midst ennobled exaltation's grandeur
Two black swans swim in a pond
Displaying their stateliness
Forming a heart with their necks
A proof of real love
Minister:
I watched the wind bend trees
and break their stateliness and pride.
With force that only God creates,
Wind pushes man aside.
I ought to know by now that wind,
invisible to me.
Can, with it’s first small breath begin
a full catastrophe.
Lawyer:
Allegedly, I may have seen
some trees collapse and fall.
I’m not prepared to say, it seems,
a wind has caused it all.
I ought to know by now that wind,
(hereafter exhibit A),
is often accused of many sins.
It’s M.O. looks this way.
Doctor:
I diagnosed the falling trees,
observing in the main.
A wind, or in this case a breeze,
just may have caused this pain.
Aorta know by now that wind,
having consulted many minds,
is only the first symptom of,
tree failure of this kind.
The skilled have fashioned melodies,
the keystrokes of the mind,
proclaiming hopes and verities,
extolling humankind;
colours unbeknown'st to us
do hover and distill,
and splash, now they're synonymous
with God's almighty will.
Might we as students of the art
assume a kindred tone,
interpret measures of the heart
'til theirs and ours are one;
re-craft with notes mellifluous
the stateliness of Brahms,
sonorities of Mahler,
noble men, brothers in arms?
In memory it is standing still
with decrepit stateliness,
a crumbling mansion on the hill,
in pathetic loneliness.
Mama says when she was young
it was owned by a rich man
and was the nicest house in town.
Just picture it if you can.
When the Great Depression hit,
the rich man lost his money.
He jumped from the highest window.
“Now, no more questions, Honey.”
There were rumors that his widow stayed
after her husband died,
but no one saw her often.
If one called on her, she’d hide.
In my childhood the house frightened me,
like an ogre on the hill,
coming to life at night-time,
with emptiness to dispel.
It was searching for careless children
who dared to get too near.
If caught, they were seen no more
in their homes or any where.
My daddy said it was the wind
that made the sound of sighing.
My young ears, when I listened hard,
could hear a woman crying.
By: Joyce Johnson 9/14/11 Won a 2nd
For Constance My Dear Heart’s contest “Creepy, Scary, Haunted House Poem, Pleas”
Say, praises are because of Allah the One
Who hasn’t taken a son
And who hasn’t got a partner in any place
And who doesn’t need a helper to save Him from disgrace
So proclaim His stateliness and greatness.
The ponderous fog lifted early,
now the widening bounteous blue
makes its presence known,
my feet stay on the ground,
but my eyes climb an upward
journey passing slowly in review
and as big as passion itself.
I'm gently carried to another height,
a caressing contentment and quiet period
where the depths of inspiration
seem limitless among the sculptural
mountains that slope near, then
irregularly lift and fall, and beyond
every heightening, a new heightening waits.
Resting on the mountaintops, one huge
cloud with scalloped edges of mighty
morning shine, and lingering high above
are the smoldering sunbeams, therefore,
ranks of gold in scattered grandeur
are put on view wherever it falls.
A wandering river coursing unhindered,
alongside, verdant fern that's spread out
like green lace, but also sated
pines in their stateliness of movement.
Reaching for mountain peaks so that
serenity stretches out its sensors
to relieve any inner restlessness or
turbulence while steadying my hurried pace.
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