WITH A GENTLE HAND (MYSTIC)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No stained glass, just a quiet sanctuary~
her hands, a cathedral of skin and bones.
Eyes closed, fingers laced together, a fragile turret~
her hands pointing towards heaven.
With her gentle hands, she silently prays~
a silent language spoken to the Unseen.
Her knuckles, beads on the rosary of faith~
the soft curve of her hands saying surrender.
In her private convent, a connection is formed ~
effervescence flows; tranquility descends upon her spirit.
The heavy burden of suffering is brief~
given over to a higher source.
Her prayers acknowledge something greater~
an admission of need, a submission humble.
No grandiose ‘hallelujahs’ or declarations~
only murmuring of hope, held in her tender hands.
This one’s a castle; that’s a customs-house.
They’re stolid, listless, just a little dull.
The sky supports an arbitrary gull.
The languidness of Liszt, the style of Strauss
are wholly absent. Colours are metallic.
The eye sweeps over cornice, turret, steeple,
then it dawns on us – there are no people.
Clock towers, mountains, minarets, all phallic,
are void of human life. Stark, empty chairs
adorn each arid, motionless interior.
As we apprise, eyes sneeringly superior,
we note acerbically his love of stairs –
A Will to Power, ever pushing up.
One daub there is, however, gives us pause:
it dates long before Enabling Laws,
before he dreamed of Kesselring or Krupp:
a bridge that’s quite impossible to cross,
going nowhere, has never carried traffic.
With a boy sitting on it. Startling, graphic,
without a hint of Schadenfreude or Schloss.
Self-portrait, this? What features may we trace?
What’s here vouchsafed? Incipient racist brute?
Hardly. A disarmingly awful suit,
and most revealingly of all – he has no face.
Twirling her fairy skirt,
a lace and pearl dessert.
His eyes hypnotized by
the lace and pearl overt.
Bells on her fingertips,
this lace and pearl concert.
She gives her all to him
in lace and pearl exert.
Her father hides her in
the lace and pearl turret.
But marriage promise
gifts lace and pearl convert.
Twinkling eyes of the groom
splays lace and pearl dessert.
Each day I climb the fleshy
stalks of your love to perch
outside your castle in the sky.
I watch the currents ebb and flow
as clouds are carried away
downstream. I lay patiently in the
sun's warm arms for a glimpse
through your turret window.
As the sun readjusts her body
the glare from your window
is telling me to try again later.
Night comes on fast, slinking
it’s way through the sky,
prying me from the sun’s embrace
and the sweet earth rushes up
to catch me. It leaves me breathless
as a glimpse through your turret window
and I scrape the earth’s blood from my knees
to prepare for my ascent tomorrow.
I’m the patient while these words are like my doctor/
Find the grace and style to please hoards jarred like nectar/
Wined by the taste and trial to ease an orange barred sector/
I’m defined by the baste and survival like a horrid scarred protector/
Come near the scope of my word turret I’ll tour it if God’s sure of it/
I drum to conquer pits and concur wits with thoughts I stir to spit/
Begun is a helicopter verbal arrangement within a range of mint/
Been fun to gel a proctor with verbal engagement and pin any mental derangement/
Sent sun in lieu of a stricter hurdle and a big stage dreamt
Don’t groan in lament just loan what’s lent moan what’s meant or be shown what’s sent/
Growth’s strewn to own not to make sense /
There’s a renown presence in this precedence like a full press dance to commence.
turquoise sky
castle Britannica
rowing club in gentle waters
arrival of swans
I head to the turret
binoculars on a ledge
I see red tulips
loving the turquoise sky
Silent bliss hum resounds within
We alone know by touch
Heart soul centre; we go therein
Thanking God very much
It’s an open secret
No one else may ferret
Save those at heart’s turret
Be to become
Silent bliss hum
23-December-2021
Quietus
Once touched by The Holy Spirit
Our mind-body structure transmutes
Bliss symphony from love’s turret
In-pours magnetic attributes
Benign bliss friction rapturous
Pervades our form in loving tease
Delightful joy fortuitous
Grants from fears and desires release
We are still, as voids within fill
Divine currents encasing form
All doings done, as of God’s will
Ensconced in bliss elixir warm
20-November-2021
November or December Quatrain Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
No point to prove, we walk alone
With angel wings we fly
We cannot share, the bliss we own
Till ego we decry
It’s an open secret
That no one can ferret
Save love at heart’s turret
In joy we groove
No point to prove
23-October-2021
Quietus
I lost myself in your quest,
Fate denied what was mine..
Burning within was a heart that died,
Leaving scars that did not lie..
Leaving me helpless,
In this world full of dead..
You went ahead,
Driven by your desires..
I was left alone once again,
Not to be ruptured but trained..
Finding myself was again a task,
Losing to you wasn't that hard..
Hath not I let go of my emotions,
I would still have had the chances of resurrection..
Nobody could enter this prickled heart,
The reason you were lone inside this ruined turret..
You awakened me, repainted my soul,
Made me strong enough to hold myself..
Then left me alone in the wild sea,
Never to come back..
The first few days were hard,
The struggle real with the wretched pains..
Love is not a bed of roses but of thorns,
You showed it right and held me tight..
For it helped me rise and fight again,
Tame the waves and tide again..
You left me to thrive,
I soared higher to cry..
You set my soul ablaze,
And cut my chains..
You were a traveller who settled,
And I became the restless bird of passage….
I want my sword to water wilting plants,
Yet not to slay any false foes in wars
Like an ant killer gobbling helpless ants,
Or any monstrous beast that walks on fours.
I see sun like a wearied man plod home,
And moon stare vacantly across the field;
Wind hums with dreary ghosts that wildly roam,
And flies oft' buzz around my blood-stained shield.
In this turret of the castle ...... I guard
A mighty monarch and his lulling kins,
For whose peace, people's peace I disregard;
For whose pleasure, I scar my soul with sins.
May kindness kindle his relentless heart
And doves freely fly like pieces of art.
10 syllables in each line (Ref. manysyllables.com)
Sept. 22, 2020
The turret view tells of looming onslaught,
of grievous weapons our enemies brought.
The petrary and ballistae amongst the worst.
May their soldiers and their kings be curst!
We are outnumbered in bodies, not spirit.
Our will is strong, our resolve with merit.
We stand against what the battle may bring.
Together we fight for country and King!
Arm yourselves with long launchers and bows.
Archers to the bailey, ready the throws.
Armor yourselves with gambeson and shield.
Die standing, take no knee, nor otherwise yield!
The battle won, our praises to God we sing.
Today we rebuild for country and King!
The art of intelligent debate is gone
lost in the children of the corn maze.
This is what you get when you have a generation
whose best friend is a glowing box
filled with half-truths and I want.
Civil debate has become passe
now it's only my way or hell's highway
-tear gas-bull horns
in your face is all the rage..
Don't you know
we're in the foothills of a second civil war.
goodness will hobble its way into the mountains
take the high ground above the fires and blood.
Innocents taking a last stand-in the turret of the damned.
Abreast in tank top
Seeds deflower battle myths
Red lace lingerie
Under shadow of turret
Flowing combat above doubt
Garland of poppies
Sword unsheathed for wild conquest
Guns orange roses
Heavy metal for comfort
White flag intimate cover
Make love and not war
Coronet for a bouquet
Tiara of peace
Sweet surrender in motion
Wreaths for a renegade cause
18th February 2020
Contest Let the Pens Flow Tanka Poetry
Sponsored by Jenish Somadas
Syllables checked howmanysyllable.com
Traditionally a tanka does not have a title, but I have to give one to submit the
poem. I hope that Exposure enhances more than it may distract.
Like the bombardier beetle
with an advanced weapons system attached
It can expel an intense hot, pulsating jet of words
the fluid it blinds the frog before he can croak
aiming its turret in any direction with accuracy
After the ejection of each explosion
that of the boiling pressurised fluid
we can see the bug in politics talks hot air from the rear
a weapon system that science can't work out
I can see now why they dig for
it helps to cover over their trail in leading the blind
over the cliffs where they fall victim to a deadly cause
that shifts the whole nature of things to suit tyrants
those whom play a hand in killing
Related Poems