shakti faculty uncoils awake, rise
sacred kundalini life-force stream
connecting radiant spiral wheels gleam
ecstatic prana floods to paradise
creative energy winding serene
unifies with cosmic Supreme divine
sanctified exposed exalted benign
purified individual Soul seen
equal masculine and feminine poles
high frequency Source liberates powers
supersonic singular wisdom grow
gracefully presents fertility whole
hot bellied alert colour fruity hours
spinal heat euphoric consciously flow
~~~~~~
Dawn crosses itself through my latenight dreams
The bruised fingers of the skies, me awakening.
Where light was spotted before the start
This gray uncoils from my fist, squeezed with my heart.
Now the breakdown of once shut eyes strain
Dawn is called true daybreak —
With another outward far off shine
She's only ghost according to clockwork time
Morning on glass through ever bonding cobwebs
The dark in its light, still descends.
Into the jungle the ebony puma leaps with joy
lion and tiger eyes inequitable to this boy
illustrious cobra uncoils from a near caca tree
kangaroo court in session in a high degree
enthusiastic mushrooms open on demand
young ferns close up shop in this verdant land
onward and upward chimp says to her cub
understanding jungle survival is a very small club
London growls under the tread
of diesel driven dreams.
A stork visits,
an attic full of discarded toys.
White mice sleep in pajamas,
made of childish nightmares.
Barges reek still, just as when,
sweat was as common as dirt.
A window in Baker Street,
opens to let pipe smoke out,
it uncoils in the air
like a left-handed genie.
Meat mongers return to their,
gore-soaked cradles
before the dawns leery light.
The city is a fable,
there is fuel oil seeping,
through tunnels and runnels,
where entrenched gutter snipes
lie low and wait.
Denizens' crabwalk
along Regents Street
barking Chinese commands
at oppressed corgis.
Stately towers are pressure washed,
until they shed a dark sunlight
that fractures ferrous raindrops.
Tenements sink under the weight,
of red carpets
until the blood flows
out of them.
London by night,
is a veneer,
a crust
of low expectations.
Heated by sun and rock
a mottled snake licks the morning air.
Last night, stones were its eyes,
a blood-chill had frozen the flavor
and flicker
of tongue and taste.
The daylight is already sun-crushed,
heavily it crumbles,
dry churning a scant green
to withered acres,
grinding all beneath its hermetic heel.
A rabbit runs a racetrack behind its eyes,
long whiskers sightlessly search
reaching far from their hidden hollow,
its brown pelt dreamily brushes over
a rounding horizon.
Snake uncoils, breaking boulders of blood
between warming bones.
A cage of hoops unlocks a hunger.
A blushed mouth is snugged around
translucent fangs,
bodkins that smell out
all small-pawed scrabbling’s.
Rabit ears twitch as eyes leap awake,
it hears the serpents lithe unhinging,
senses its scaled unclasping.
An immediate pulse quickens,
vibrant tendons of awareness
animate joy and fear.
On the quiet breath,
visions of life or death arise
as speculative ghosts.
Now the sky must record
while the earth forgets.
A black cloud dangles
Effortlessly forms
A haunting image
Showers travel east
Daisy hides her face.
A Robin sings
A melody
The sun appears
Once more she smiles.
Grass uncoils
Raindrops dry
Web retracts.
Sunset
Moon beam.
Stars.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
I
Beans amaze for giving
As do marigolds, maize, corn
One seed uncoils worlds
II
How to think multiverse
Humans are - feelings fool us:
Seeds: one & many, past & future
Turtle cruises the reef,
turquoise warm in the sun;
tendrils of coral stretch to
sup filtered light.
Butterflyfish and Tang
intermingle amid coral polyps,
that are plentiful appetizers
for this party.
As sponges get their rays,
a seahorse uncoils and jettisons itself
just overhead of a yawning mussel.
I giggle to myself as an angelfish kisses
my goggles and swim beneath the belly of turtle;
awed at the Crayola chroma essence
that delights my spirit.
I can’t sleep no matter how much I try
My heart is aching with all the why’s
My only joy is to think that every night will fly
And a dawn of hope will rise at daybreak in the sky
Time uncoils and sheds it’s daily skin
The gloomy shadows and grief will wane
I sit and tend to my heart whose in pain
As the dawn in my soul wakes up the night
The sunrise follows on the heels of night
I know well for I have kept it in sight
Sitting in shadows I reach out for light
And so in my mind I embrace myself dearly in this fight.
3.5.2021
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Contest:’ Open poetry 4’
Sunsets' skies drape silk
colors of the Spring, dropping
crayola crayon
tints on the water-
color of Summer's
sweet dreaming. The soft
velvet lips of kissed
garden roses close, bend
before the night.
Winds race billowy
bursts across the chilled blue
of Fall, and the birds
take flight. The webs of stripped
branches are stark against
smudges of a seagull
tincture.Trees are like carved
Spirits; they finger the bone
white of Winter's display.
The Charms of Spring
ooze fertility, scents caress
as life uncoils.
Sunrises' milkweed
strokes of buttery grapefruit hues
dress the wings of morn'.
Birds herald Spring's awakening
with alarm clock
din rung.
Scents from flower buds leak
gossamer trails
into the air.
The sky at dawn has a brighter, redder blush
as life uncoils
out of hibernation's suspension
in surge of energy,
unwound discharged,
by unrelenting, unstoppable
hint of Spring in air.
Spring revealed, burst,
is sprung, done.
MARRIED TO A SAILOR
Straight talk, he walks into her heart.
He speaks of submarines and such.
No one could keep their lips apart,
his handsome pair warm to the touch.
But being portuguese, blood boils,
and half corn beef and cabbage, too.
The love affair almost uncoils,
thus driving him and her askew.
Yet being stronger than the storm,
A ring of gold, encircles them,
and seeking God becomes the norm
Of duo gripping this - His hem.
With God impressed the love is sure,
and white redress to keep them pure.
6/17/2017
8 syllable sonnet in iambic pentameter
A November wind has roared for days.
Dead garden stalks lay bent and frayed.
The proud maple now stands undressed
In drifts of yellow against the fence.
Broken remnants lay on the yard;
A scattered blast of limbs’ discard,
And yellow litter in blissful calm.
A roaring November wind is gone.
The crickets have hushed and gone to sleep.
All nestled beneath the barberry.
While snowbirds busy the hedges to feed
Where ruffling winds misplaced their seeds.
Sadly, the walnut has nothing left to shed,
But an ivy still clings in brilliant red.
A rusted barn roof is left exposed
Where distant arbors used to grow.
And chimneys sew their grey, woolen clouds
For the bleak sky wears a sullied shroud.
The curls of smoke gracefully unwind.
As for me, a pensive knot inside.
To see the snowbird’s round, feathered breast,
And to think. Each year uncoils from the next.
Bright leaves that held such hope in June,
I’ve collected to make a sick perfume.
And piled these treasures in a heap;
Now smoldering and weeping in the heat.
I huddle closer to the crackling flame,
Knowing that winter will come again.
Pessimists leave the art of dreaming
to optimists with a half-full cup.
And whenever I am feeling down,
writing poetry helps lift me up.
Poetry probes the human psyche;
with witty words bandied to and fro.
And helps to hold the doldrums at bay;
by keeping the tides of boredom low.
Magic and reality mingle;
when understanding first comes of age.
And secluded deep within my heart,
hope finds its way to the written page.
Morphing into a cynical muse;
anxiety uncoils in my head.
And yet, a phantasmagorical
world keeps my imagination fed.
I value the little things in life;
like shooting stars etched upon the night.
And I need but gaze at the heavens;
to inspire my soul and give it flight.
Your death pushed me into this nugatory black hole.
Stinging sorrow whirling long, sadly out of control.
You fought one courageous battle, in deep pain.
Brave in your sickness, you never complained.
Memories of you, humorous, loving and uniquely smart.
This cold sadness slithers foul inside my frail heart.
I grapple with this dark rotten turmoil.
The flickering dread slows then eerily uncoils.
The third of five wonderful brothers.
Your death dims my soul, I will recover.
My spirit tired and oddly worrisome.
I will remember your special hue of awesome.
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