Tethers float & tickle like feathers
I'm aloft unaware of outside weathers
Evening enhanced by colloquial pleasures
Malleable & manipulated
Esoterica like yours specifically stipulated
"Tie me to your tongue" I sing
Oh I utter the strangest things!
Yet I must admit I'm fully focussed
Overjoyed at this conversational hocus pocus
Unusually laid back & vocally gushing
Rampant points of interest gain further pushing
Tantalise & give me traction
Obligated now to end-goal satisfaction
Nerve endings sever in hyperspace
"Great subject matter expert kept perfect pace!"
Unbiased reviews are fully flowing
Eloquence like yours has me all glowing
Their was a time l was mad as a hatter
Back then l was on the highest of heights
Now l am looking for new subject matter
Perhaps too high one is setting their sights
Though still l'd say anything but the latter
But seems their is more left turns than rights
As one again my life is now in a bit of a tatter
Endless days and even more so restless nights
As now their is much more on my platter
When still l am in search of fresh appetites
I would guess enough of the chit chatter
As you know reality it now bites...
Zombie love is still love
Deadly like wilting poisonous roses
Zero tolerance for growth
Images entwined embraced
Your fingers around my soul
Shades of gray wrapping
Like umbilical cords
A kiss to die for
Will you paint that please
Can you breathe life into
A dead romance
Black widow
with a webbed dance
Breaking my heart bones
Acidic love is so wrong
Strong
Homegrown
Weary of love jones
Sure to be the last to leave
Perhaps to be linked in eternity
As your famous subject matter
Stroking brush painting unflattered
No need to give us a name
We are broken bones of love’s disdain
Ever since born, my parents whom I know
And through them my siblings, each grandparent,
Aunts, uncles and cousins with whom I owe
And share by birth a blood bond that they grant,
I wonder still, no links by me are made
Like friend’s or spouse’ whose knot can get broken
May last long as I live, or may well fade
Whilst bonds of blood for life are not token.
All said, if true identity is soul,
If I’m the part as an individual,
He, the total, an undivided whole,
Can part be separated from total?
If truly mine, yet Him I know not still,
What wonder if I sink in mire at will.
_______________________________
Musings | 01.07.2026 | birth, parents, relationship, soul/self, spiritual, Sonnet
Note: The bond of birth and blood makes lasting relationship till life. But there is another bond that transcends life-- the bond truly advaita (of non-duality) of an individual soul and the supreme soul. Yet, Him who’s truly my own, I know not, and hence is neglected by me. What happens when I am free from this lifelong mire, when realization dawns? This is the subject matter of the next sonnet: When dawns my life’s new dawn.
The Night That Changed EveryThing
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By: Mister Más Sobre Nosotros
For: The El Patrón Observador
Rubato Relacional
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Perhaps the experience can shift seamlessly
seamlessly through beautiful emotional highs
and obsessive behaviors
cautiously planning for the future
without any assurance or care
seeing things as normal speaking a
beautiful story when the narrator is
more matter of fact instead of that hopeless
romantic one neither swoons or are happy
in your sight and away from you ,you are only
a point of reference of Rubato were the shift
in romance to unromantic is heard
no support for depending
in every stage of romance
the survival mechanism allows you
to keep your faith for hope might
the tables turn
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The title of a poem is what seems to attract interest
Sometimes not many views so change the title,
maybe twice or thrice the viewing numbers increase with added zest
Seven By Seven Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
1/24/2026
Night Sea Masquerade
the moon takes on a new form
on water closing her mouth
their imposing other tides
she's a belle over the sea
her shadow bulges in waves
at night you never can tell
wringing audience, ringing
*edited the title after contest
"she" is not me for this subject matter
Easy targets are those being trampled on rights wise
least we forget where the truth stands voicing an opinion
take the structure of your argument cursing and name calling
it embarrasses righteousness to even speak in defence
Now search your soul for a few minutes addressing subject matter
moral deformity within society has taken a dark shade
nothing is impossible for you to see when push comes to shove
If one looks the right way around with a balanced view
identifying grave error surrounding values
many in this world today are complete frauds
Justice no longer exists to protect the innocent
instead it latches onto the guilty parties side
Three times today one individual roared in such vulgar language passing back and forward
whilst we prayed adding this soul to the list for conversion of heart
sad to see some people totally possessed and so abusive
Promises made promises broken,
a continuum as long as spring follows winter.
An inevitable sequence, a metal chain,
locking all pledges of honesty into a dishonest oath.
These loyal pledges will fail for both.
It may not be the promises broken,
instead the subject matter of the pledge.
If the adjuration for an honest pact
was a lifetime bond,
it may be here promises hold strong.
If there was a day
when becoming cross at a loved one
was the last breath spoken to them,
would you honor a promise to yourself
never to let that happen again.
One never knows the last time it will be,
causal callous words last spoken a tragedy.
Then all let’s make this promise together,
a pact that will be kept now and forever.
Words to one another will always have
respect, dignity and love, assuring this pact not broken,
never knowing it could be the last words spoken.
a luc bat*
The Earth will still spin, might
not, why worry? I might not care.
You tell me I should share
the story of his fair weather
heart as if ‘twere pleather
for your gossip-starved sterling X-
followers and bowflex
lovers who become texting whores,
the kind the world deplores.
*The luc bat is a Vietnamese poetic form that means "six-eight." In fact, the poem consists of alternating lines of six and eight syllables. This poem is interesting in its rhyme scheme that renews at the end of every eight-syllable line and rhymes on the sixth syllable of both lines. Luc bat poems have no set length or subject matter. Rhyme scheme: xxxxxA/xxxxxAxB/xxxxxB/xxxxxBxC/xxxxxC/xxxxxCxD/xxxxxD/xxxxxDxE and so on.
Conformity does not comfort me
Its friendly friends
with clown smiles,
beware of the guile,
beware of the bile.
Rambling repertoire
from a mouth of an asp,
subject matter
I just cannot grasp.
If following along
is the mission of most,
I cannot dance
and sing as the host.
The wolf on the lone path
the eagle soaring high
picket signs against tear gas
having the snow leopards eye.
I will stand in solidarity
these resolute individualists
the nature of their souls
has no conformity.
Well written poetry should have a rhyme
Be pleasing to the eye and to the ear.
With words that then flow down the page in line
When read out loud the rhythm should be clear.
The subject matter must not be too hard
To work out what the writer's words convey.
A 'jumble sale' of words will just retard
The essence that the prose was mean't to say.
Therefore, before one settles down to write
Be mindful that the style you do select
When read, will bring the reader much delight
Because your choice of words to them connect.
We are the scribe when all is said and done
So let your rhythm be the perfect one.
Well here we see that something is hot? About as real as
As the (tailpipe an e v's got?) The subject matter is what
You have got.' Either man or woman? Is what i consider?
And whether what is not.' Is what? And why are some termed non binary? Yet are So
Het up on genders.? All in all its such a mind bender! its
Like they want to drink alchol.' Yet be de-intoxicated as they
Do?
Seem absorbed by genders.? That should not be narrated?
By me or you' or any reality defenders.)
Is there anything above?about them; i have missed ?
Maybe they could have a catheter bladder to head
Orifice inserted; so they could vent better ( when feeling
Really pressed.?)
Quote: “Lenses grant vision, perspectives determine what we see.” Poet
As faith confirmers, glorious, color-chorused rainbows caress.
Brilliant beauty as fresh delivered through Heaven’s gate,
brightens human hopes, uplifting faith to further radiate.
Sensations sparkling gloriously bright as any God made jewel
grants elation promises that soothe any doubts man may mutter.
For many, rainbows are a visual grabber, seeing faith further congealed.
Those lacking even faith’s shadow, view rain as the subject matter.
Again the well of poetry was dry,
My pail was drawing up no deep inspired
Thought or subject matter. All was dull, tired,
Stale water, no exciting trick to try.
Once more the fountain gave me naught but sigh
And sigh of lukewarm breadth — of old expired
Content, no fresh drop of song so desired.
Blessed muse of music, you heard my dire cry!
Pulling at the cord, hoisting and heaving,
I felt the bucket slosh again—with life!
Patiently, ladling out ideas delayed,
I splashed myself with fresh drink. Relieving
A murky mind, I felt renewed and rife.
And thus of nothingness was something made.
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