garnet rain s p l
a t t
e
r s
s l i
c
i n g charcoal stratospheres ~
a herald of h o p e...
Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Nature always wears the colors of the spirit."
Star-speckled galaxies nestled in indigo stratospheres transform
Into a plethora of pastel hues, painting the canva of a breaking dawn.
Strokes of salmon and peach stretch across the heavens,
Whilst the slumbering cosmos begins to awaken.
Shimmering dewdrops collect like pristine pools within velvety buttercups,
Nourishing amber and ebony bumblebees.
The birdsong of magpies calls you to embrace new day's hope.
Pulling back chiffon-cream curtains,
Rays of sunlight reflect off ocean-blue irises.
Breathing in the miracle of life's warmth,
Pearlized wings of hummingbirds flutter to the rhythm of your swaying heart,
As a balmy breeze skims past fields of lavender—
Delicately dancing in an amethyst ballet.
Lost my equilibrium amidst
an utterly ethereal seduction,
ascending glinted stratospheres
'tween reciprocally magnetic forces,
beyond constellations' obscure vapors,
whilst breathlessly infatuated moons
softly whispered destinies' avowal to
surrender otherworldly ventured sighs...
I want to be the impetus
furthermost your gravity...
CONTEST 225 - sponsored by Brian Strand
inspired by Sara Bareilles "Gravity"
All The World's A Stage
You'd better believe it
Each Act encircles
daily excursions circumstantially
transversing through eternity.
Conversations comprise
realms of performances
pestered with dalliances
circumventing stratospheres.
You surmise it's
not a dream,
but utopian reality
as you project your image
into telescopic
Karmic repercussions
drifting through sequential
blockades of hurdles
terminating serenity.
Peacefulness serenades auras
of dancing mistruths
utilized to perfection
under lights.
You take a final bow,
go to sleep.
The contradiction of the rager
So youthfully endowed with unpleasantries
Of a child-man high in cumulus clouds
Stratospheres of anger that rain
Down like spoiled fruit
Falling from the rotten vine
Futures of grandeur, illusions of manhood
Snuffed out by his own created prison
Keep on poor unloved wretch
Held too little in drunken mothers’ bosom
Does this pain, the soulful pain, so selfish
Have bad dreams, can’t walk away
From a life being destroyed
While looked upon by passer-byes
In awe of intelligible language
Lack of tangible mind
Showing deep-seeded ignorance
God’s forgotten creature
Does man, woman or angels cry
For such a broken psyche
We coax you to depart
Back to the toxic womb you were bore
I effuse my delicate sensibilities
With my ears shattered by the jagged
Plaintive noise that I can bear no more
When I lay down to reflect, I hang up my hang-ups and time is out of mind, as my soul and
my spirit climb to the stratospheres.
I mentally hideaway and I am visibly incognito. I still here and feel the earth bear a metal
beat of chemical residue, as the sounds ricochet through my mind.
On this maiden voyage I try to unravel the sounds of the world, and interpret the silence of
bubbles floating in my mind.
In my kingdom of peace, I build a fortress, surrounding the wild life in my visions.
I metamorphosis into a chameleon then a butterfly, my soul glows like a sun torch burning
brightly in an azure sky.
What am I?
James C Bryant Jr.
May 27, 1996
Stop! Listen to your heartbeat.
Concentrate on every thump as it slowly evaporates
into the inner tissue of your soul.
Silence manifests laterally,
drowning your body, leaving you with sharpened senses.
Your limbs slowly detach from your fragile body
creating paranormal stratospheres in the surrounding cosmos.
All matter surrounding you dissolves until all turns to
black shadow.
Solitude takes you and you are an irrelevant whisper
within infinity. You gain consciousness,
you are in a pool of your most distant memories.
You come to the realize that you never knew
yourself, you were never even close.
Suddenly you feel more in tune than ever.
You are reborn from the womb of your own heat
confident that you aren’t, you never were, and you never will be.
"Freedom is a legless bird who
flies high in shimmering shades
of blue on wings that flash and
flicker in sunlight, pursued by
relentless squadrons of angry
eagles, always much too slow,
stupid creatures of the hot, wet,
heavy thicknesses of air beneath
soaring, streamlined, legless
birds who nest on mountaintops
or the extreme edges of cliffs or
the cold, white tips of towers
and teach their young to fall out
fearlessly and catch the wind on
shining wings, strong with pointed
beaks and eyes sharp to see all
the struggling shapes below all
the infinite light above me."
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