Is this poetry or medicine...the border blurs
A whispered line can calm what fear obscures
A verse becomes a tincture for the mind
Restoring quiet places stress unbinds
Each metaphor a balm for hidden ache
Each rhythm steadying what strain might break
Ink turns to breath where heavy thoughts reside
A gentle pulse that lifts the weighted tide
So call it art or healing…both are true
The poem repairs what life has torn in you
Written: November 22, 2025,
***********
I cherish the solemn stillness of the night,
where veils of mist cloak the moon's pale face.
Its threadbare curtain, a tiara slight,
of sanctity and shadowed grace.
There, catharsis prowls in whispered tone,
a voice that has faded yet still unabated.
Though death has seized its throne,
hope's luster gleams, amaranthine, fated.
Wretchedly wilted, the petiole lies,
hubris humbled in dismal decay.
Yet dreams, those viceroys of disguise,
transform burdens into light’s array.
And only sleep, at fate’s silent behest,
Unbinds the soul’s relentless, stubborn chain.
From hecatombs of grief confessed in chest,
To wisteria’s bloom, soft peace regained.
Eyes are closed but souls are not yet
A wrap of white envelopes glow
Holding the four sides with a heavy toe
Darkness unbinds the weeping flow
A bed of dazzling flowers welcomes the white
Angels of love enchantingly bow
Birds twittering in the garden of glory
Daisy Dahlia and Camelia murmur to grow
The castle of fragrance invites the blossom
Fairies decorate the Garden of Grace
A white dove holding the innocent phrase
and the garden glitters as the beats become bitter
Tulip tweets and the lavender bushes
White dove with closed eyes flourishes flawlessly
Melodies of love welcome the innocent
Hibiscus hoovers and azalea utters a holy blow
White covers the courageous color
Asking Petunia now about the awful overs
Garden of Eden embraces integrity and futurity
The ritual ends with happiness and a glow.
THE SUN BEATS ITS DOWNWARD GAZE
The sun beats its downward gaze
Onto a spread-out garden,
Shimmering among the arrayed blossom,
With sultrily humid, sweat-inducing rays,
To break up the encrusted ground.
A resurrected form unbinds itself
From winter's hardening strictures,
Uncracks the crowded confines
In a stretched, yielding chrysalis
To emerge pristine of shape and hue
Into the burgeoning brightness
Of a gold-gleaming dawn.
Such is the harbinger
Of pleasure, tempered with ease,
Unhurried by the current of time,
And restful as an infant at sleep.
Yet rising from slumber,
Like a phoenix but gradually, in its way,
Not wasting effort or energy,
White-feathered wings grown out from
Broad, strong shoulders.
I watch it become what it always was,
Ready to claim its right to the skies,
Blue, unclouded, sweltering.
The summer's day melts into
A forgetful haze of meaning,
Of no need for answers.
The answer lies in nature's glory,
Matching it in every regard,
In tune with the seasons,
Where the cycle of life, death
And regeneration never breaks.
earth proud livery
doves begin to coalesce
heaven unbinds rain
8/5/2021
Mighty is the mind that understands
Strong
in due time
Strong is the hand ,
Mighty that reprimands
Strong so that unbinds
Benevolence
5/13/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
In a lonely garden there' s a shrine
where upon a rough hewn stone is writ:
“GOD IS LOVE.”
The devoted supplicants make wail,
water the flowers, feed with crumbs
the sacramental dove.
A priest, decrepit, feeds the holy fire,
rakes the embers of the holy hearth.
Heaven is grey above.
Daily he laments in doleful orison,
unbinds the holy scroll and reads:
“Thou shalt not kill.”
His sentence is short and simple,
without exceptions and parentheses,
declaring God’s will.
though many about have forsaken
Love’s fane, have fallen prostrate
before a god of ill.
And this god has three faces,
one wreathed in pleasure’s smiles,
when the cup is full.,
a brazen face of terror
wrought in hatred’ fire,
And a skull.
In a lonely garden is a shrine
where upon a rough hewn stone is writ:
“GOD IS LOVE.”
The devoted supplicants make wail,
water the flowers, feed with crumbs
the sacramental dove.
A priest, decrepit, feeds the holy fire,
rakes the embers of the holy hearth.
Heaven is grey above.
Daily he laments in doleful orison,
unbinds the holy scroll and reads:
“Thou shalt not kill.”
His sentence is short and simple,
without exceptions and parentheses,
declaring God’s will.
though many about have forsaken
Love’s fane, have fallen prostrate
before a god of ill.
And this god has three faces,
one wreathed in pleasure’s smiles,
when the cup is full.,
a brazen face of terror
wrought in hatred’ fire,
And a skull.
Encircled by shadows
Drowning
in ashes of a past
Left gasping
Grasping
Hope
Per chance to resurrect dreams
A moment
To envision
The incision
Which unbinds the heart
From ego and mind
Liberates desires
Inspires
Divine love
Meant only for the soul
To butterflies, bats, and midnight creatures,
To the brilliant, the dark, and things unseen.
To roses, wine, and satin dresses,
To a lucid child-like dream.
To the musty scent of ancient places,
To thoughts distilled on a fragile page,
To open-ended expectations, and
Eccentricities of a secret sage.
To the promise that lies in what is unfinished,
To the charm in the rawness of the fray,
To quests that lead to curious changes,
And rest that unbinds peace and play.
Orb of no entropy unbinds the soul
It can grow beyond the soul
Abstract from point of view of beyond soul
Shakes that very soul
Time has no meaning even at the base
Master of time is master of universe
The vector of growth is put in place
This transcends the very nature of base
The time from that point of view
To mesmerizing power of soul is a clue
The spellbinding beauty of abyss shows true
It’s just one element of few
Cave of echoes elements unbinds
What destiny in it spirit finds?
What would be power of by it spawn minds?
What ballad would be sang by next to their essence blowing winds?
Dreary dream dies
Entice each eye
Trust truth to tie
Opt open orbs
Use unbinds urge
Reach rides research
Do discern dare
Eat egg éclair
Thrill tragic trounce
Observe odd ounce
Unfurl unveil
Ride roomy rail
Dote deep desire
Etch end empire
Troubles trim top
Old options opt
Urge unzips use
Ripe rapid ruse
Demand dotes dear
Echoes endear
Telling truth times
Open outlines
Undo unsound
Romp reasons round
Defy dense dare
End effort ere
Touch tensile toil
Oblige old oil
Urgent upswing
Rhymes roar right ring
Leon Enriquez
26 Mar 2014
Singapore
long scarf of a night
clasping the bracelet of a moon,
what emptiness is this when i have you not near?
the distance of a thousand galaxies collecting stars
unbinds me,
when once i could tumble upon your
nape so bronze
as if there to fly
swept by every lingering breath
borrowing some endless moaning of time:
a stewing chorus of sacred yet raw vignettes
coming together then parting...
farewell, a few more steps closer
and i shall disown my soul and bones under
the cloud's dark awning
to silently memorize your fading eyes
entombed in the burial of an unbecoming night.
.............
Contest Form-E of Broken Wings
Originally written: 1/23/2014
Reposted: 1/24/2017
Tiny bar percussion instrument, I am in awed.
I rhythmically stroke my thumbs across your tines,
My soul floats upon your notes; my heart applauds.
Tensions and sorrow float away; your music unbinds.
It seems natural to hold you in my hands.
Your inharmonic overtones, to some, may seem odd.
Sweet dissonances lull me like no marching bands.
Simple reverberations discover my inner-self's facade.
I love to hear your pure tones resonate, floating.
Upon the breeze, contrasting sounds drift away.
Trickling timbre, like a bubbling brook…naturally calming.
Together, we become one with nature, joys stay.
Dreams drift to forever where fantasies thrive.
When you are in my hand, my soul soars.
I become ecstatically thrilled to be alive!
Awakened by the freedom your music implores.
INSTRUMENT: Thumb Piano A.K.A. Kalimba
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
October 29, 2011
Poetry Soup Member Contest: >>> SOUND MADNESS <<<
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
It binds firmly
Leaving no room to ramble
Of an unsweet taste it is
Yet in naivety we hasten to taste of it
Until the flesh of our tender hearts
Are scarred by its unrelenting grip
The memories forever tattooed on our souls
But then it becomes too late
Wriggling out becomes an utmost impossibility
A thought of breaking through is arrant nonsense
So we writhe in pain
Waiting for soothe to come
Endless the pain may seem
But only after a while, yea! a while
It unbinds itself
And gradually it does
Leaving room for the bruised flesh to heal
The scars however are indelible
A reminiscent of the shackles of love.
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