Constance La France's Epiphany Contest
Ambling through brittle cobblestone
of an alley...thorns cutting
my soles, the icy wind pinches this flesh. blinded by haze of duskfall...
And yet I persist-
wondering if this heart still
hungers for life...
Remnants of my seasons
are withering in the kiln
of time's cinders-- a shadow play
dimming through the indolence of chapters--
I Iaze around a complacent world,
defined by apathy--
A drifter without cause , my bone and marrow
remain unperturbed by the thrill
of moments' ceremonies...
Fading away into a rugged trail
I reach the edge of a forest track
to find through a hole
how the sky turns wildly red and alive...
hearing the laughter of earth
and the moon kissing summer
on my lips...
the grace of epiphany unknown to me
unfurls all budding flowers.
FLOWERING IN SPLENDOUR
recurring
blossoming
curios
of
seasonal
intervals
visuals
&
emotional
moods
in
pursuit
of
exhausting
atmospheric
phenomena
unperturbed
tokens
anticipate
the
precarious
welcome
momentary
pleasure
DECORATIVE FUNCTIONS
flowering
in
full
splendour
blossoming
seasonal
moods
of
atmospheric
phenomena
in
welcome
pleasure
unperturbed
imaginings
anticipating
the
precarious
vigour
of
correlative
characteristic
creations
Mary lived in a vault in Edenborough’s under city
Feeling secure and comfortable, bothering no one
Unperturbed and undisturbed since her death in the 1800’s
Everything changed when the tours started
at first, no one bothered her, because the seekers were adults
but then a child entered the vault
“Who is that woman?” the girl asked
Her parents acted annoyed
Mary was startled.
No one had noticed her before.
Did she like being noticed?
In fact, she did.
She followed the child home and became her poltergeist.
“I am without a master and the absence of a master; I am unperturbed. I have transcended mind and absence of mind, I am unperturbed. Know me as unperturbed and transcendent of all. I am the nectar of Knowledge, homogeneous Existence, like the sky.”
Vibrant emptiness stakes no claim to fame,
resplendent in the light of its true Self
and as such having no tempests to tame,
with no narrow agenda on its shelf,
let’s life as impulsed flow on by itself.
Free from all concepts of this versus that,
the monk is content wherever he’s at.
When hurricanes come without warning,
When paths diverge without sign posts,
You stay by my side, unperturbed,
With trust as compass,
And love as quiet strength.
Particles of sweat, creeping into the
panoramic canvas...
Your body is like a flower vase, crowded
with freshly bloomed flowers of the
arbour of love,
I asked you wherefrom you have brought them...
Silent you were.
Thereupon your fingers were fidgety,
sauntering through my bare back,
A tingling sensation, a mild line of
blood, or I might have been wrong,
for your pale neck was intact when
a uniform oval sign of love was dug there,
by my trembling teeth, undisturbed, unperturbed
by the external disturbances.
Just like Ulysses was searching for his
destination, my hands, in pursuit of your
pleasure hotspot,
around and around would roam aimlessly.
Let us live through the moments, for the
freshly bloomed flowers would be wrinkled again
until they are rejuvenated
by my spurt of love
Sarban Bhattacharya
Poetry Soup gives in plenty the literary opportunity
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Emanating out of the fantasy fountain of imagination,
the torrent of words flows with the streams of elation,
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Sensual poetic passion of the Soupers enriches the mind,
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Unperturbed by the cacophony of the mundane abyss,
poets perceive in lyrical journey the feel of profound bliss,
The rhythm of exuberance envelopes the satiated soul,
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Composed often within the dissonance of dreary disarray,
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A genial platform for poets to make the mark that glares,
as Poetry Soup recipes the community of poets shares.
majestic serene
she has her own mind
mighty keen hunter
fierce rodent killer
sleeps in a curl
has a war cry
off with their heads
loves chasing prey
pats down her nest
unperturbed
unconcerned
unruffled
queen like
my way
cat
"The wound is the place where the light enters you".
As a woman, been hurt many times,
Rejected, ignored, ridiculed,
Still, if there is a rebirth,
If I return to this earth again,
I want to be a woman!
I never knew words can be so hurtful,
Words can inflict wounds as cruel as a dagger can.
When I was bruised, I learned to bear that pain,
Staying unperturbed, upright and strong.
In those moments I realized,
It’s not only the agony I am going through,
I am being enlightened by suffering,
Disillusioned with human nature,
Humans can be as cruel as animals,
Sometimes may be more.
Those wounds were not life-threatening,
Nor were they damaging for my mental health,
They did not break me.
Instead a serene light entered into me,
My vision of the world became unclouded,
My confidence in myself increased many folds.
The drooping flower did not fall on the ground,
Petals were not crumpled,
It opened in its glory.
I’m fully out of my slumber,
now knowing poems aren’t born in dreams,
but from a mind dipped deep in ink,
a brain awash with quiet resilience.
Yet in its silent agony, the paper stares blank—
befuddled by the jargon the nib dares spill,
deepening laughter in the sponsor’s folly,
rejoicing with the writer’s block
still unperturbed within my brain.
But there’ll be no excuse for defeat’s glare to scare;
so long as my mind stays sane and sound,
my “impossibility” shall be read as “it’s my possibility.”
Just give me time—and my fears will flee.
So fill again the pen that refused to write for glory.
Where is that page that once denied my excellence?
Within its belly, a masterpiece lies full-term,
ready—aching—to be born.
Take strength, my weary muscles.
Flee away, all stubborn sleeps—
for your absence shall birth my excellence.
A crushed light ignored the barrens warped,
The portrait stretched its walled character,
Gambler garments malice of shown marked,
Wakes a loose parley of losers barked,
Drawn drank sense, of the disparager,
The darkened questioned, shaped silhouettes,
Of obscurities merit its due,
Glares moves a heap of token assets,
A lengthened armed shallowed some regrets,
Facedown with cards, the table knew,
Pictured paints like an artful dodger,
The enclosed grows taller than itself,
Outranked and owned outspoken codger,
Last-minute cribbed the homey lodger,
Marmalade sweetens right off the shelf,
A day begets a dawning nightfall,
The narrowed light cast a long shadow,
All turned their backs against the stonewall,
Except for the vague, zoned off-the-wall,
The latent unperturbed sort, John Doe.
Each chapter of the night tells a story,
Each moment it arrives offers insight,
Each time it prevails brings out the light within us,
Its duration unravels mysteries.
The night closes the door to daylight,
Which transforms us into fighters and gladiators.
We emerge from obscurity,
Harnessing the fading light.
The night makes us creative tools;
Its challenges encourage us to seek the True Light.
It provides us with depth,
Allowing us to see both sides of a coin.
The night is beautiful;
Its turbulence enables us to peer into the chamber,
We emerge stronger than when we began our journey,
Unperturbed by the shadows in the meadow.
August 11, 2025.
Unperturbed by prevailing circumstances,
Untroubled by gnawing situations,
The tempest does not hinder the ship's voyage;
There is something to understand about the sea's rage.
Darkness does not shut the door to the day;
The eyes see the approaching ray.
Even when the walls are falling apart,
Every day offers a new start.
The dark clouds signify an approaching rain,
That’s what the mind tells itself amid the pain.
Even though the treasure is taken by the night,
The despondent soul still seeks the light.
Inside the chamber lies a seething cauldron;
It's a journey across a shrivelled meadow,
Though the unknown ravages the inside,
Glow and grace envelop the outside.
July 28, 2025.
To escape the tumult
And noise of the world, I unlock
And enter a secret door to
The serene haven of my mind.
I am a meditating Monk
Blissfully unperturbed; making
The most of my sojourn in this
Uncharted, tranquil Xanadu.
I repose, close my eyes
And sieve my nagging woes
Like a dreamcatcher
Trapping unpleasant dreams.
In a tabula rasa mind state;
I have no conscience of time.
I wade into and float on a stream
That creates no ripples.
Moments, a snail that crawled
To a standstill, the zephyr as silent
As trickling blood; my mind
Deep asleep while I'm wide awake.
Here, a welcome respite
Where echoes fail to respond.
When nature speaks,
It's below a whisper.
Here, I find
My peace of mind.
H e r e, I am content....
and free!
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