Rak-a-tak-a-tak-a
A slowww, dry, kind of sound
Something unhurriedly clicking
Low down on the ground
A steady, deliberate noise
Like a clock, with rusty gears
Chik-a-chik-a-chik-a
Find the source, follow your ears
Discover a creature distinguished
By the leisurely shaking of its tail
I’d like to (slowly) introduce
The humble Rattle Snail
Blue and violet clouds unhurriedly grow
Adorning the sky for the evening show
The deck chairs are empty, and so is the beach
Time is no more than a figure of speech
Say it’s enough now, drift with the tide
Succumb to the stream of perpetual ride
There is no tomorrow, there was no today
You're gifted to see how the colours turn grey.
This poem is read from top to bottom - left to right
And also from bottom to top
Right to Left
Starts life anew, replace gloom.
Hearts thawed with springtime bloom.
Longer are days and flight take wings,
Summer sunshines with warmth it brings.
Brand new display colours, red fiery leaves,
And one by one abandoned trees.
Winter comes snow and ice,
Nipper, beauty,stark cold so precise.
Relentlessly cherish day after day,
unhurriedly seasons, life’s display.
Routine change, naturally force,
means emptying remorse.
Teach joy where beauty lies,
Reach until time for goodbyes.
********
Goodbyes, for time until reach
Lies beauty where joy teach.
Remorse emptying means,
Force naturally, change routines.
Display life’s seasons unhurriedly,
Day after day cherish relentlessly
Precise, so cold, stark beauty, nipper.
Ice and snow, here comes winter.
Trees abandoned one by one and
Leaves fiery red colour, displays new brand.
Brings it warmth with sunshine summer.
Wings take flight, and days are longer.
Bloom springtime with thawed hearts,
Gloom replace, a new life starts.
The birth of each new morning
like magic before my eyes
unveiling for a first time
over and over again
a sun unhurriedly rising,
patient in the flow
of everlasting time.
In that one early morning hour
when nature yawns and stretches
coming to life ever so slowly,
we get swept up in the twilight zone
when time seems to stand still
and for at least a moment
we're standing at the edge of timelessness
where everything seems possible.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
In the inner garden where silence lays its mantle of blue dust,
The butterflies in my stomach have slept so long they seemed like stones,
Or perhaps they died in a winter of forgetting and cold shadows,
But now, suddenly, I feel them awaken as if they were memories,
They begin to move slowly, unhurriedly, like children in the morning of life,
Trying to remember how to live again under the sun of memories.
Wait, I tell myself, they've forgotten they have wings, wings cannot walk on the ground,
But when the thought of you floods my mind, everything becomes a sea of tranquility,
And with a single thought carrying you to me, the butterflies take flight,
Fluttering as if they had never left, as if they had been waiting,
Waiting for your name to bring them back to life like petals unfolding,
After the storm, after winter, in an endless spring of dreams that do not die.
Thus, under the sky of my heart, the butterflies dance in a symphony of colors,
In an eternity of the moment when everything is possible and nothing is lost,
When a simple thought of you becomes the key that opens the gates of light.
My secret love is silence;
to be alone in the loud clash and tumult
yet to be silent
and not have to speak, or acknowledge
the presence of anyone.
I need at least 3 hours of aloneness
not including nocturnal time.
I need to think unhurriedly, spaciously,
even as the TV reports a train wreck
I stay in my silence, no need to turn off a thing,
nor block out the bird song
my kind of silence is the roaring kind.
It is louder than a runaway tractor
it is the silence in the engine
between the noise.
That kind of silence requires no answer
or repost, no agreement or disagreement.
Imagine a vast hollow tree
and a small mouse living in that hollow,
the mighty tree shakes and groans, creaks
and rattles
yet the mouse has found it own inner tree
and that tree loves to be alone
in all that cacophony
for the louder its world gets
the deeper is its silence.
If you were to ask that mouse a question
it would not answer,
because silence already knows,
and never hears
what we think we know.
Walking in the back streets of Paris
On a warm balmy evening
Talking with a friend enjoying
The night and watching
As the people went on their way
Unhurriedly ,also enjoying the day.
The pace was slow
Sun a fading glow
Shadows growing long
Nearby a busker sang a love song
While a nightingale
Gave a melodius refrain
We imagined a little ball
Which we played keepie-up
Flicking it with hands
Feet, shoulders and head
Daring the other to let it fall
People smiled as we went by.
Some would stop to join in
Smiling and laughing
Creating a joyous din
All twitching and almost dancing
Keeping the ball in the air
Young and old ,female and male.
Young ladies also joined
Carefree without any cares
Café types on the pavement bars
Leaped to their feet
When the finally saw
What we were about.
My friend and I nodded
The one to the other
And smiled at the revelation
Revealed and displayed
That imagination caught
And spread throughout.
For as I will reveal here
You see no ball existed here
Just imagination that lit
Peoples life to bring a smile
To faces of all hues
On a balmy summers Parisian night.
Andrew mcintyre 12/07/2022.
The calendar hanging on the wall says,
"Beware! It is yet winter,"
Though the night air whispers,
"Listen not to this."
The lashing rains, deafening and onerous, pass.
Frogs rejoice in loud, riotous chirping.
Newly sprung rivulets rush down abruptly greened slopes
Gurgling and gushing like freed children escaping school.
Fragmented clouds waft leisurely eastward, so unhurriedly that the
Stars appear to stroll southward.
On the moon's rising, a feathered chorus begins the
"Litany of Spring."
Nature mocks its own ominous tones of winter's requiem.
Hummingbird hardly heard,
airily, merrily
extraordinarily
effortless floating, near
weightless transparency,
seemingly without the
slightest of care.
Urgent persistency,
terribly panicky,
frenzied and frantic, she's
burning through energy
rapidly, hungrily;
precise machinery
executes there.
Mallard so lazily,
buoyantly floating on
glassy flat waters, he
glides on the surface, and
wanders unhurriedly,
conveying contentment,
trivial feat.
Feet like a bicycle
furious pedaling,
splendidly, swimmingly,
chasing and fishing, he's
hungrily hunting and
ready to eat.
A foul breath of misty, cold, damp air
brushed across my cheek, caressing hair;
then, unhurriedly, around neckline
while slinking languidly down my spine,
which shivered at that, and eerie sound;
of a four-beat rhythm; shod hooves on ground.
Unearthly screams from deep dark shadows;
the murderous caws of old black crows
disturbed by a corpse in passing hearse.
I held a button and voiced a verse
as it passed me by; alas, in vain,
I spied my face in its windowpane.
Deathly wind drafts in the hearse's wake
ravaged through my flesh - and soul did take.
Something Spooky 8 to 16 lines Poetry Contest, placed 1st.
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Date wrote: 05-October-2021
I am stone kicked about on a grassy path,
boots stomping unhurriedly find their mark in me,
the owner seems lost in thought -
but the boots keep kicking me accurately,
I drift as in a dream, if stones can dream.
The last kick has sent me flying
right into some dried-out patch of grass,
purple and gloomy in the pale growing dusk.
The boots have stopped walking,
I feel safe now, assured I won't be kicked again.
Journey's end for the boots is a house
sitting alone in a corner, like me it must feel
anxious that the boots may kick its door,
but house and me, stone, are inanimate -
we don't feel, and life is mere kicking of boots.
@jjote 070121
aspect allowing imbibes divine bliss
filling our form by gentle osmosis
felt within as a teasing love caress
rapture renewal with nothing amiss
ecstasy unbound within thus present
oft lets out a roar peaking joy current
to which by reflex ego resistant
self blocking bliss our native element
to connect with the divine a deep thirst
yet our fearful desires blockages of dirt
ego doubting that feeble form will burst
lowers magnetic heat fearing the worst
see saw battle within thus continues
even as rapture of bliss throb renews
viewing resolutely bliss waves anew
thus strengthening spiritual sinews
unhurriedly happening this blossoming
lower mind vaporised we cease sizing
moment to moment in joy thus flowing
essence of presence keeps meditating
in timeless time we cease oscillating
29-November-2020
(syllabic rhyme)
I choose to sit on the fence.
saddling raging passion.
taming the unruly mane
threatening to sway out of control
promising to imprison reason.
I choose to make my bed on the fence.
Here in the open I can hug away huddles
that intimidates a union of souls
and stand in the way of your warm caresses
speeding unhurriedly down my spine.
I love to settle on the fence.
This is where I can watch the sunset
and think of all the passions You ignite in me.
I won’t change anything about You---
Like the soft yellowing edges of the sunset,
I will let you be
Original. Authentic. True. Unusual
How to navigate the path leading to liberation?
Loosening mind-body identification
Recognising that our attention is held in packets of time
Silence and stillness our orientation
Unhurriedly shifting fulcrum nearer to conscience chime
What happens in meditation is this: we exit hypnotic trance
Tumbler within falls noiselessly; revealing self-luminescence
06-August-2020
In this forest of majestic beauty
immersed in idyllic serenity,
one can find that total freedom
away from noisy crowds
and rumbling streets.
In this forest of majestic beauty
when sun rays filter through branches
to warm them from the frost of a chilly morning,
the grey sparrows and the yellow warbles
are a delight to hear in spring, in summer and fall
as a venture on this path little known.
In this forest of majestic beauty,
one can hear the flapping of butterflies
and see their sumptuous colors that attract
the unhurriedly, middle-aged horse-rider.
In this forest of majestic beauty
no wind is rough, but gentle and soothing;
come here and spend a pleasant afternoon
sitting by a small pond where fragile frogs
leap out and run, too afraid of the raucous ravens.
Written on 7/14/2020
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