Upturns Poems | Examples

The watch man

realms defence launches
dice, reckless soul hoarder
upturns death hourglass

Freesoul

Beneath the fury of sun
Wades a wobbly nun
Stomping on thorns
Watch the teary ferns

Scars on her skin
Carrying wounds engraved
Curse devious grin
And snakes she once craved

She sucked and spitted
Bouts of venom in her blood
Tainted by flood
Of emotions she once knitted

Profuse tears of fern
They observe
Drip on her burn
Numbing pain so perverse

Weeped the clouds
In meloncholic ambience
Silence crept loud
Spotting redemption in defiance

Step out the vines
Adorning her bruises
Wind's penchant to divine's
Yearning, she refuses

Blanket of ferns
Ease her shivers
While the moon upturns
Bogs were her new weavers

Time passed by
Has been watching the sky
Fern decays
Her soul repays

Woven

Beneath the fury of sun
Wades a wobbly nun
Stomping on thorns
Her soul burnt and torn

Scars on her skin
Carried wounds engraved
Trust, her sin
So were snakes she once craved

She sucked and spitted
Bouts of venom from her blood
Tainted by flood
Of emotions she once knitted

Silence crept loud
In the woods still stern
Moon upturns
Summoning weeping clouds

Tears unfolden
The woven maze
Outside the haze,
Lies a fern pretty golden

Threads, now vines
Adored her bruises
Illusion's penchant to divine's
Were flood sailed cruises

Time passed by,
Venom decays
Has been watching the sky
The fern now sways

Reechoes of Vertu

 A-mid shared thoughts, 
shuffled 'cross mortal uncoil,
no central judge; 
choices re-sound, choices spoil.

 Principles form an unspoken pact,
reciprocity in action, a silent (re)act.

 In trans-action of duties, a treaty defined,
acknowledgment, values, (re)flections, they bind.

 Not a-lone acts, rather sharing confessions,
indices echo (echo) moral impressions.

 Choices ripple ~ a moral surge ~ ennui overtakes,
no single emotion can play ducks-and-drakes.

 In life's upturns, 
steepening truths subtly heaved,
concrete reverbs, in every gesture, conceived.

The Clearing

The sordid thought thicket thrives 
within the dungeon of the dark mind,
where the web of tormenting roots wriggles,
entangles all the escape routes,
as qualm deconstructs life’s forest path. 

Unsure frail footsteps falter, 
deranged wobbly tread dithers,
the root trap and the abyss wait
for the traveller, worn out of walking long, 
going jaded to nowhere in the jungle of life.

The survival struggle starts as shovel of resolve
upturns the security soil, fells the trees, 
removes the mesh and the darkness,
the crafted pasture of freedom then 
looks up to the sky above the dismal canopy.

Destiny isn’t a pretext, the walk is one’s own walk 
through the murky maze of the forlorn forest,  
where the insightful impulse carves out
a pasture transforming into the garden of bliss,
the inner vision configures in the clearing.

_____________

February 17, 2023
Contest : The Clearing
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
For Brian Strand Premier No. 1194

Echo Return

Echo return contoured by consciousness 
Oft ignores our interconnectedness 
Sternest rebuff being indifference 
In a poignant, painful, time stretched silence
Mitigating our innate blissfulness 

Endearing touch of childlike lovingness
Vibrantly bubbling agendalessness
Burns, upturns, on facing insentience
Echo return

Hermit mode, in perfect, brilliant stillness 
Recognising underlying oneness
Heals to so reveal, soul’s luminescence 
Engaging innocently in parlance 
Learns that egos stern, reflect not kindness
Echo return

29-October-2021

The Pathless Path

Ego upturns, so we learn to discern
Urge of mind-body versus cry of soul
For God we yearn, as love for love does burn
In midst of action, playing our life role

Ceasing to weigh and size, we vaporise 
Open arm embrace for all souls alike
Heart transfixed with joy, as bliss currents rise 
Magnetism within continues to spike

Mind-body becomes an empty vessel
Cleansed of erst cravings of our lower mind
Each breath intake, God bestowed miracle
Fetters of fear and desire, left behind

Our emptiness charged with bliss in fullness 
Boundaries blur as we meld with oneness

26-October-2021

Noises Off

ducks cluck
     bulls buck
     gnus munch
     bugs buzz
surf 
lulls
   as shrubs bud;
dusk
suns
     cummulus    
     unfurl
curls
uncurl
     tumult
     upturns
as
crush
sucumbs

a FP source inspired list

Oblivious To Chills

As mauve of autumn waves her velvet cloak
Each treetop, each leaf upturns a  glazed hue:
That  between dusk and morn, the winds evoke
A  heartbeat tempo of evening’s debut--
Oblivious to chills with  beams on oak
Parading their grandeur , regal in view,
Then once again through October – brushed sky
Where  Northern lights mindlessly fail to die !



Broken Wings’ Form O- Only One Contest
Theme: Oblivious ( 4-syl count)  5/10/2017

The Little Magnetic One

From stiletto heels to flashy coiffures
  whether in braids, crochets or something new

They never ceased to shimmer in view
  and there, there, these beauts I see...

Three dames and a half
  all beautiful and plum

But the half,
  has a way with the heart

With rosy cheeks the red
  of cherry bubble gum

She upturns every frown
  and splits tears apart

And if you stare gently
  and also listen close

Then luckily you will
  lose yourself in her smiling gaze

...And all your troubles too.


------------------------------------
Inspired by: Little Magneta 
                  & the Cuddly One too

Acrostic Man: a Collaboration With Ken Duddle

Form: Acrostic
Don’t walk by,pretend not to see

Outside in the cold is no place to be

Whistle to yourself,think glad it’s not me

No-one can escape their destiny.

 

No-one can prepare for all trials of life

One day it is bliss the next day is strife

Taking one day at a time is now my life.

 

Optimism is the only way out

Upturns are ahead I have no doubt

Thinking to myself I am down not out.

Because when I am sensing the dark side
I remember who always stands by side
Through him is where all my power does reside

Thrown away all I have of  foolish pride
My love for him is no longer denied
No more drinking shall there be of their flouride

Caught I a glimpse of yonder far hillside
Location found is highly classified
Tell you its close though, time of the Yuletide

Be sure you protect your broadside
This is to make sure that you don't backslide
Vast distance to go before you reach dockside

The seas you travel know they are mystified
Dangers encountered will seemed magnified
At its end you journey will be justified

In Quicksand

It is the truth which 
never was. After many 
deaths I will come to you 
to repeal my verses.

The festering earth was 
making the rains green, 
to suck the dry sands 
thrown by the angry winds.

The soul upturns the body. 
You will crawl in a tunnel 
to come out for sedation 
accepting the karma.

A non-acceptance of the
straitjacket. Let the anxiety
rise like a beast.


Satish Verma

Acrostic Man

Don’t walk by,pretend not to see

Outside in the cold is no place to be

Whistle to yourself,think glad it’s not me

No-one can escape their destiny.

 

No-one can prepare for all trials of life

One day it is bliss the next day is strife

Taking one day at a time is now my life.

 

Optimism is the only way out

Upturns are ahead I have no doubt

Thinking to myself I am down not out.

The Mystery of Spring

(a Salute to Howard Moss)

Although it is not yet warm,
we have shoved to the backs of closets
snow-boots, gloves, and woolen scarves, 
locked tire chains and ice scrapers
into trunks of automobiles as if
tomorrow the first bloom appears.

Oh, stiff wind blow, hold back snow,
whose flakes unwelcome gust
while hearts claim lilac scent.
Oh, pale moon, come, lend your light.
Oh, songbird, drop your sweet notes here,
while old men's hats sail past
and girls push down their skirts—
with both hands—as purses cling
on hunched shoulders and hair-strands 
blow against cheeks. 

What is this howling wind
and who brought this mournful song,
this wild, feathered up-surging
as if tomorrow the world upturns.
We've shoved our gloves, 
our boots and scarves behind
the racks in backs of closets, 
locked away the sacks of salt,
and scoured the ground for signs
of hyacinth buds or crocus flush,

while old mens' hats sail past
and girls hold down their skirts
as purses sway and hair-strands
whip against their cheeks?
And though it is not yet warm,
there is the mystery of spring.

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

Crossing the burning barriers,
you take a fatal jump.
Brazenly, but giving little away.

Long shadows of ethnic clouds
were eroding the sun. Feeling the
wet lips you rub you sweaty
palms in vain.

Haunted, you would like to
kill the ghosts. You pull a silken
cord. A silver urn upturns the
ashes of your past.

Each truth walks without legs.
You are still incomplete. The
self-portrait will never hang
on the wall.


Satish Verma

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