79.
Wrong Turn
On the time I left the straight path
Unfathomed anxiety teemed my heart
Ever doubted the resolve of my brain
If it would delight or harness some pain
The only sure thing was that
I only earned another's wrath
When from discontent
Formed I blemish intent
I became a speck
On the eyes of the meek
Abnormal fantasy
Drained all sanity
Filled with derision
To a righteous person
Worshipped childhood idol
Whom I thought would heed my call
Thought I'd found a savior
Who would do me a favor
Upon turning away
From his opponent's way
Onwards orange avenue
Belching fumes towards yellow hue
Traffic disturbed
Many eyes to me turned
On wrong turn entrapped
By stupid mishap
Was towed from the highway
After causing disarray
In proper seclusion
The transgressor was thrown
Behind the shadows anguishing
No orange attending
In the end it was yellow
Who ransomed ex-fellow.
-11/20/2011
(Dumarao)
*Yellow Poems Collection
As darkness wriggled into every place,
The land was governed by a veil of silence.
The previous vivid life had left no trace,
All but some crickets singing in defiance.
The mortal realm stood petrified as though
Succumbing to the conquest of the night.
However, in the sky, a tiny glow
Was rather willing to put up a fight.
What a one-sided clash of force
Conducted by the rebel and the tyrant,
And yet a brutal one without remorse
Between the little David and the giant.
Oh, how alike we were, the lonely star
That dwelled in an unfathomed galaxy!
Though separated by a space too far,
We both possessed a common destiny.
We were the beacons of sagacity,
The last remaining citadels of light
Amidst the ocean of opacity
That wrapped the whole world in the depths of night.
They’ve never felt the pull, the calling deep and low,
Of waves that brush the shore with secrets kept below.
Nor tasted salt on lips, nor felt the rush and sting
Of tides that swell and break, and all the storms they bring.
They know no whispered songs the ocean sings at night,
No stars reflected there, no phosphorescent light.
To them, the sea is vast, a plain without a sound—
They never touch its soul, its depths unfathomed, bound.
But those who love know well, and hear in every tide
The surge of whispered dreams, where lovers' hopes reside.
All the fragile
Never ask the fate of courage
That whisper in whims
Abundance aspire and speaks
Apure voice summon a silent song
Revere then in furthest comforts
Fragrance spread all spring wind
Infant shades share rays bliss
Swear on the unfathomed wings
That never perish in peril
Let then dry in waste
Flourish usher without consent
raihan parag
He saw the noble beast collapse in blood and dirt,
Lashed by the owner’s cruel and ruthless crop
He rushed to cradle its head upon his stained coat,
And wept with sorrow that choked his broken heart.
He shared the pain of the majestic steed,
He cursed the world, its deceits, and all its sin.
He knew the truth was far beyond his reach,
He felt his faith, belief & reason crumble within.
For wasn’t he / the voice of the unfathomed deep -
Questioning / God and all ancient morality.
Dreaming / of will, and power, and ecstasy, -
Sparking / and de-catechizing minds / with originality.
But in that moment he was just a simple man
Who loved a lamb more than his Übermensch.
Who gave up his mind for one last act of sanity
Who became a mythical hero despite his Mensch.
The sacrificial lamb with a final breath doth whisper -
...“”Dionysus, The Crucified” - I am…your Zarathustra””
Imagine
Imagine…
A mansion among many promised mansions
On the banks of a river from blessing,
Sparkling in the eternal sun,
A shoreline lined with trees
In the harmonic hush of glory
Their leaves of healing
Float like sacred balm in everlasting wholeness
Imagine…
A house made of joy
Where reality genuflects to eternity
Giving up crippled deafness
And every mute shame
Where joy adorns the doorstep
And laughter’s pure intentions
Decorates with blazing brilliance every wall
Imagine…
A home with a foundation
Of perfect reconciliation
Where perpetual sweetness flows
Like honey from the honey comb
And awaits unfathomed eternal dawn
To rest upon the broad shoulders
Of the eternal agape and clement mercy.
Imagine…
A kingdom where
Frigid winds feel the breath of exile
And sullen cold retreats
Midnight finally rests
Cradled in the sighs of the perfect Pi
Where sorrow’s burden and grief’s millstones
Lay shattered at a crumbling gravestone
Imagine…
Home
3-2-23
Contest: Writing Challenge I Words
Sponsor: Constance La France
Unfathomed
Consciousness swims slick outside my fingers,
Trembling perceptions pure and round.
Infinitely slow I close my grip,
Entrapping, and watch them drown.
Elizabeth McCann
Sporadically, language falls short of the lasting mark
To instantly share awe-inspiring testimonies and remark
Appalling atrocities of war and unfathomed sorrow
Millions of people are on the hunt for a wheel-barrow
This loaded backpack was previously packed for a trip
It is, however, currently being utilized as an escape tip
Their humble lodging is becoming increasingly narrow
We pray they will be clung to unite like a bow and arrow
They're laboriously dragging their burden along the street
It is extremely beneficial to deliver water and buckwheat
For their active life, they will keep an eye on the sparrow
And won't utterly work behind the plow and harrow
Written: March 22, 2022
Memories unleashed, like torrential floods,
Begin as but a trickle from scant drops.
What time has stored away now hid no more,
Here seeps, there swells, now press against the stops.
Tumbling out of sequence from the corners,
Our sorrows sweetly joined with joy and mirth.
For life is here, drawn from unfathomed pools.
The old is gone; the new pours forth, gives birth.
Then, quick as they arrived, they now depart,
Returned to deep recesses of the mind.
They slip away, await a future call,
And yet another added, like in kind.
Of infinity
there is much left unsaid,
unfathomable it is to think
of a last frontier for the
purest tongue there is.
Would it not be then,
the limit to our invincible minds,
that search for God inside atoms
and far into the cosmos
but seldom within?
Would it not be a defeat
of pure, sterile science
to uncover a number past which
there is nothing, nowhere,
nobody, none?
To dismiss it outright
sounds unsportsmanlike,
and yet few aim to decipher the
taunting grin of mathematics,
few brave her chastisements.
And so it is now, that
practical minds honor it
with Hebrew letters, and
like God, leave it unfathomed,
but are ever reminded that
it is us that are small in scale
and therefore, irrelevant,
and that beyond us, far beyond,
lies something immense,
bigger than our minds themselves.
Third Place, This or That, Vol 8 Poetry Contest
Dated: 21st November 2021
THE TALE
Walking down the street with my bare feet
The thoughts of Mahatma, Nelson Mandela, and Osagyefo
Pumping my blood towards the course of Emancipation
Freedom! - Is the word
The one true legend which opens up all minds
To set free the thoughts of the thoughtless
To make strong the spine that’s prone to Hopelessness
To give the Shy another chance
Confidence! - (A Core)
To reach and beyond boundaries unfathomed
And who can deny the “Wondrous-Magical” spirit
Provided by the Supreme Man upstairs
Our Father (GOD)
For He has given, even me, a purpose
To live,
To fight,
To survive (strive)
Not a super tale to be tossed with
Not to be forgotten
And not only to be told or passed
In successive generations
But to be lived,
To feel free,
To embrace;
Everything Destined….. (Free Advice)
BY ASANGALISAH AKANTERE ISAIAH
Ears would never hear
Eyes would never see
How a heart soaks in tears
When lips smile in glee
Mind would never decipher
How a surge of unfathomed fear
Can disrupt a plethora of harmony
Even if the soul departs from the body
Tongue would never utter a sheer
Word of agony.
''In the company of the flower. The butterfly's unfathomed affection. A many times coming about --a kiss from a rose.''
The sighing breezes slip through trees
Drifting to faraway places unimagined
Where children’s faces will feel the breeze
And dream of faraway places unfathomed.
written June 21, 2021
All things have a beginning and an end
with birth and death. The fate of tiny fleas,
to vast, unfathomed galaxies- portend
there are no steady-state eternities.
September 26, 2020
Premiere Contest: Rithimus Divisa 7
Sponsor: Gregory R. Bardin
Four Lines From My 10-Stanza Poem-
"Extinction" posted 01/02/2016
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