Toward Scent fold’s vale they cleaved the green,
Where wind runs thick with things unseen.
“Is it justice you seek or just her place?”
Lotus said, his voice low, draped in grace.
The blossoms paused, their vows unsealed,
Each plucked petal quaking in truth revealed.
For in his oblique gaze, the mirror lay.
Become the wound or forge the way.
The wound was raw and the way unknown
And from that break, a voice was thrown
"Let's all go to Netherbloom and trace,
a flare to rise and claim our place".
Azure was still, but knew the storm would rise.
So, he nurtured the mosses and lichens wise.
Netherbloom was far and path was fire
still, they trudged through thorn and mire.
They reached the brink where wild roots twine,
A voice uncoiled from the Caelith's shine
“You crossed the flame; you bore the haunt
Now speak your vow, what is it you want?"
“We want equality,” they said, “in beauty.”
"Not bowed by rank but crowned in mutiny.”
said Lily with her grief filled voice.
“Let beauty be truth, not any mortal's choice.”
spoke waning Tulip, holding her poise.
The dry stem of a lonesome vine of vivacity,
now painfully curled, rooted frozen,
entwining the desiccated verdant veins,
sways chilled in the winter wind of desolation.
The sleeping passion of exuberance,
painting a picture of comatose entity,
impresses none, finds no frame, droops down uncoiled.
Dormant emotions flicker like candle flame in freezing gale,
the crumpled vine suffers cold distress, pain unexpressed.
The original emerald lattice morphs mystically into
a mirror of veracity with ingrained sheen of actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of silhouetted latent essence,
rinsed with the suppressed hues
of distinctive spectral disposition it embodied once.
Metamorphosis creates the transient design,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm
of the compulsive shape shift,
waiting for the touch of spring.
Eclipse begs beasts bays: Chaos and Havoc
as the scheming plots a clock, e'er so close.
Ill sprites hover and bobble ... spasmatic
entities let loose their suffering throes.
Screams and wails are a precursor outbreak
of the cavernous peel that the master--
is nigh--and that the hellish host bewake,
yond slithered pets whip, for the taskmaster.
Becalm, bestilled, beware forevermore,
whilst the knell toils its toll and the uncoiled
hast sprung a boy no more behind the door,
third strike's out a poise shadows earth, turmoiled.
Minute passage as minutes flash a fear,
fourth nil toil nexus whence hell domineer.
A giraffe who was new
At the Aberdeen Zoo
Heard a bagpipe askirling one day.
He tracked down the player
And offered to pay her
If she kindly would teach him to play.
He gazed at the piper,
A Hebrides viper,
As she uncoiled and let out a sigh.
Then she hissed, "Listen, dearrie,
I'll answerr yerr querry,
But you're nae gonna like my rreply.
Yerr legr'rr like stilts,
You'd look funny in kilts,
And that just would'na sit well wi' Scots.
We'rre quite snobbish and swell,
And know perrfectly well
That plaid dinna fit well wi' spots!"
In the deaf woods of curious willows
lies stalwart beliefs of days bygone.
Retribution, restitution, resolution
resolve, beginning our journey.
Blinded by bewares of sours ungifted
lost constitutions coagulate.
Lamenting gargoyles grin in reside.
The lost, given to hateful
brawls detonate heaven and earth.
Solemn potentials greet our solice of
batteredin-betweens. Spores of negativity
parade the sovereign coming storm.
Holy mountains of Nosfreatu thoughts
reek of broken lenses of scum
serpents, a continuous path to an
Event Horizon, a culture of patterned
violence to dog days of uncoiled reckoning.
Leviathan pipe dreams of nauseating
Oblivion, casts a universal dark shadow
How many tears to reflection?
Awakened from an afternoon nap, I arose
and peeped out through the veranda window.
My weary eyes suddenly burst wide open in utter
amazement at what was being canvassed before them.
There, sitting on the grass with folded legs was
this cute little hued girl staring into the hedges.
A more focused look revealed another little black
one sitting in familiar pose, staring right back at her.
Both seemed to be just sitting there staring at each other
with tongues sticking out and swerving around their mouths.
Quietly and motionless, I stood there watching them for what
seemed to have been hours but was only for just a few minutes.
Once I clearly realized who the other character was, my heart began
loudly beating like a roaring train. Then, as a cloud passed across the sun,
the other character gently uncoiled, waged its tail, and slowly crawled
off; and turning towards me, the child waved and asked me if all was ok.
Our heart contracts, when thoughts spiral
Ego spawned goals seem foiled
Exhume before fears go viral
Flash point, ego uncoiled
Vigilant and mindful
Let’s make life beautiful
Vibrant, joyous, blissful
When mind reacts
Our heart contracts
20-December-2021
Quietus
DEAD are these fathom of times by change; lies
of not tongue but heart, nay, soul as dead coral made
as now ocean die and her pearls wilt and destroyed
by poison of mankind.
All fades by that terrible hand called Mankind.
As doth suffer the sea-change
uncoiled and spoiled by rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs SCREAM in tumultuous toil
singing, "DING-DONG.
LISTEN! HEAR WORLD -- DEATH!"
:: 09.15.2021 ::
Ceasing vision as a kiss viewing blurred;
I'm blinking fluttering beliefs sentiments;
So a precured glimpse visual perceptions;
~
Grays whites viewed bombarded glimpse of dim mist;
In the drought bronze misted blinded heated dulls;
Now seeing dawns slanted luminosity blanket lulls;
~
Crying blinded drawn breath respired uncoiled;
Blinking sighted hot burnt ambers hazed lonely summer days;
a droughting dust storm hot breath atmosphere kissed at bay;
~
Face is hot not as warm;
Vision block not blurred;
I'm panting caught up in, This dried summer's windstorm;
~
8/2/21~ 2021©
For Imagism Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
I am being told to let go
By almost everyone I know
Release, let it out, let it be
Plunge into passivity
While I cling to bitter beauty
My bruises bloom a thorny tree
Guarding roses of agony
This pain is mine, it belongs to me
My torment is my blood, it breathes
with every breath, it beats with my heartbeats
Within my tears, it weeps
It shrieks, uncoiled, beneath my skin
Where the sin of suffering begins
It is my fertile fury, my hellish choir
My savage soul, my cathartic fire
It is large and lush and livid
Conquering and vivid
It is too precious, too valuable, to trade away or wallow
in trinkets, or flimsy platitudes, or empty cliches, or hollow
promises of unfulfilling fortresses to follow
Their learned words I dare spurn
For to recover, I must burn
So I will keep it, for I know its worth,
even if their unsolicited, unwarranted, intrusive,
Questioning and questionable, inconclusive
Unadvised advisors do not grant it girth
It is here I find
What I want most
Where rage of kindness blinds
My grieving ghosts.
06/06/20
Entered in 'N/A Rerun 7'
1st Place
From outfield judging eyes await your plight,
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven.
Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled...
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like blood boiled, fever'd swing loyal,
now away to skies, all eyes on prized swat.
Faithfully she watched from merciful stands,
clouds roll away from fancy, fated rush.
His chance to meet life, alone in her hands,
though startled by a bat's powerful crush.
Will you strike true in life's bewilder'g plan,
carried on shoulders of heavenly fans?
I am being told to let go
By almost everyone I know
Release, let it out, let it be
Plunge into passivity
While I howl to bitter beauty
My bruises bloom a thorny tree
Guarding roses of agony
My pain is mine, it belongs to me
This torment is my blood, it breathes
with every breath, it beats with my heartbeats
Within my tears, it weeps
It shrieks, uncoiled, beneath my skin
Where the sin of suffering begins
It is my fertile fury, my hellish choir
My savage soul, my cathartic fire
It is large and lush and livid
Conquering and vivid
It is too precious, too valuable, to trade away or wallow
in trinkets, or flimsy platitudes, or empty cliches, or hollow
promises of unfulfilling fortresses to follow
Their learned words I dare spurn
For to recover, I must burn
So I will keep this, for I know its worth,
even if their unsolicited, unwarranted, intrusive,
Questioning and questionable, inconclusive
Unadvised advisors do not grant it girth
It is in my pain I find
What I wish most
Where rage of kindness blinds
My grieving ghosts.
5/20/18
Long winter nights left me in deep despair,
aroused before the dawn so many times,
in concert with the mantel clock whose chimes
informed and mocked, knowing that I was there.
Consciousness had become too hard to bear,
walls of pain with no lesser ones to climb,
each hour of sleep too short, each one sublime,
my threshold reached, sought refuge in a chair.
The bedspring in the mattress spear-like stood
uncoiled unlike the ranks in which it lay
a twisted Angel sent to do no good
to torture and torment me, and it would
I ordered a new mattress the next day
three months ago missus said that I should.
For contest 'Italian/Petrachan sonnet- Spring', sponsor Craig Cornish
March 14th 2018
The resources of India were medley,
the areas were uncoiled from her posture.
We were indifference,
we homage to the dictators.
But they ne'er venerable those words
those were hard vintage for us,
they set about the verb
we started to loose our nerve.
As they recovered their senses,
the life of Indians became limp
the narrow domestic walls were built
the Indians were tireless striving for win.
They founded the way to clear stream of reason
to make the deary deserts sand of dead habits
conditions,of her for achievement.
Spent 200 years under injunctions
twisted by dungeon,
the country was awake
from the gift of sleep.
The foreign lost its way.
The Indians got what deserved they.
They got the unforeseen win.
All the futile one exiled from the country.
The Indians sedately settled in free India.
Everyone started to amble in their own garden.
15.August,1947wasv sealed with amethyst
it got the special amber days.
After the exuent of dictators,
they got their Independence
we became democratic.
This was the 'Story of Independence', we got.
Poet-Surjendra Das (Pen Name- Rudyard Jostle).
I feel the tinge of a windblown face
And set my sails to open space
Leave behind my shadowed sorrow
To explore wind-fed days of tomorrow
I'll find direction from the wind
Let it guide and not rescind
It's pushing force that moves me on
To await the light of every dawn
And seek life's measure far beyond
These churning waves I sail upon
Horizon's thread I'm sure to reach
From tethered sails, I do beseech
There I'll find a life unspoiled
To be free, to be uncoiled
And feel the sun upon my chin
Always turn to face the blowing wind
8/24/17
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