Logging into the vibrant void,
just like a comet’s burning tail,
our awareness is still alloyed,
with egoic fears that make us ail.
Who attains when there’s no one here?
We are awareness, self-aware,
with body but an interface,
wherein both pain and joy does spear
but once ego vacates the chair,
we instantly imbibe God’s grace.
Making void-centric our soul’s stance,
synced with strobes of bliss magnetism,
mood and mode prayer, we advance,
transcending each religious ism.
Dance
If I got one little itch
I can't sleep
The ghosts
Centuries beneath my feet
No power of the day
Back in shadows
Thick white halos
Whats to come back to once we're gone
A moment in chance
Hats off
That chance to change
The miracle we breathe
Brave
Stagnant
silenced
A minds ambition
Lust shoved into sanctuary
of those who have stopped living
Of disillusion
Of disbelief
Hooked on a sway
A sway as soft as the snow
The toll to creation
A cancer's delight Hate
Glory of the dream love
Merely to dance and sing
Merrily
The music shows it's passion
dedication
To die on the last note
The mind to die
Vacates a place Ready for a new beginning a different band
A new song
A new life
when ego vacates head and dies in heart ~
it is then our true soul journey does start
Vile creature of the night;
vice unquenched, sees her, the
victim, innocent, warm;
veins lush with blood. He feeds
vacates, leaves behind a
vapid ashen corpse; her
vital signs fade to naught.
On way to work you find a dog asleep,
And see the same scene on a return trip.
If that makes you wonder
Who lives life much sounder,
You live a dog’s life, no need to think deep.
If your dog has your bed taken over
And you’ve no option but to sleep on floor,
I suggest what to do,
If you have not a clue.
Turn three times before you sleep down, and snore!
____________________________________________
Limerick |03.08.2023| life, dog, humour
Poet’s note: The first limerick indicates that many a man live a dog’s life. The second, if your dog has usurped your bed, and now that you live a dog’s life, do as dogs do: Turn three times before you sleep on the floor. Additionally, snore and see if your dog is disturbed and vacates your bed. Good luck.
Sliding sun suffuses crimson color
Perfect portrait, resembles Picasso’s painting
Glowing glints and flaring flames, slowly
Dangling and drooping down for bidding bye-bye
Weary, worn sun pecks torrent tides
Silent Sojourn, at horizon hovers,
Vacates, welcoming the diffusing dark
Photo : 3
E. 10 -12- 9 - 11- 8- 10- 10
Syllable Check : PS
Date: 03-12-2021
Alliterisen 2 Poetry Contest
Verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Placed: 1st
Who is this woman standing here?
is not a lady of conscious clear
whose time on earth was not spent praying
of dubious character mankind was saying
as death takes hold and her spirit vacates
she stands at heavens pearly gates
as they open she enters in.....
St.Peter smiles and tells her then....is not all mankind full of sin'?
virus is obscene
to overcome need vaccine
hope it vacates scene
Another great Horn Haiku.
The Deepest Depths Of Epic Pain
The scars of life unveil the weight of lies,
lest it be the torment of moral sin,
wherein the guiltless suffer wounds and cries
of love’s deceit as heartless notions win.
The evil whims of wicked fancy shows
no mercy for those crossed by hands of fate
when magic dreams are cast by darkened clouds
which turns the morbid sorrow into hate.
In rage of fervor, passion's zeal is lost,
oft destroyed by life's dire tribulations,
as sunning rays vacates dawn's gleaming frost
human frailties blind truth's revelations.
Within hope destroyed and life's darkest stain
remains the deepest depths of epic pain.
3-14- 2017
T.J Grén & Robert Lindley
First 8 verses by Teppo Gren, final 6 verses by Robert J. Lindley
Note: Has been an honor and great pleasure for me to co-write this sonnet with my very talented friend, T.J Grén.
Thanks for the invitation my friend.. Your generosity and kindness match your poetic talents..
Isolation
Silence
My old foe.
It stalks me with its unforgiving glare.
I hide in the wooden harness,
Someone solemn.
Courage
My distant memory.
It taunts me with its sinister whisper.
I gaze beyond the point of no return,
Somewhere solemn.
Freedom
My vanishing treasure.
It vacates me with its harrowing loathing.
I fight off the urge to let go,
Something solemn.
Solace.
Something forgotten.
It holds my fate in its callous clutch.
I plummet through the timber prison.
Numb.
When The Sun Goes Out
By the blue lake snow drifts, vacates
Thoughts follow hours hollow, mild
Traced by a line of reason along a narrow road
Peace covers white mounds proper flow
Slips over them in a deep but common coma
Sleep comes, leaving swirls of powder
Over crisp particles of ice
Placed there with complacent cold
Frozen down to the soul of dawn
Sun moved on long ago
By the green lake snow drifts on
Sun vacates the vacuous calm so cold
Swirls of powder white, footfalls come in a trance
On children's heels, slips into tomorrow
Covered by hours numb and numbered count
Crisp particles frost down to dusk
Leaving us to discern what matters
Shivering lips, thin ice and rosy cheeks
Twilight bends dark shore escapades
It is not quite tomorrow yet
Green turns to blue under the slice of moon
White snow has mesmerizing powers
Winter waits, wastes no time
Billows of cold air coming from the young
Breathing heavy in clouds of pure pleasure
A chance to run forever on the ice
Your sweat vacates your brow like treacle...
...You shudder as your conscience trembles...
I stand firm...like mighty oak...
Go round me if you dare...
I stand firm like mighty oak...
In sweet silence I hold my tongue...
In time all things will be done...
I stand in wait...
I stand firm like mighty oak...
Go round me if you dare...
~I ’m blessed by my mourn…
released from strife’s scorn…
I am by grace comforted…
in Love‘s sacred kiss…
thus torn, I gain bliss…
my sorrow thus aborted...
~though death claims a face…
mourn is sacred grace…
alone by the throne, I find…
sorrow dissipates...
vacates, sacred gates...
sacred mourn is peace divine...
~death where is thy sting...
borne of human fling...
only thoughts by humans wrought...
arise from disguise...
of human devise...
by mourn the sacred is sought
For and in Honor of Nette Onclaud
“ALOUETTE, Your Cleansing rite
by John Moses Freeman
I twist with each terrible moan
escaping your lips in distress
while you lie prone, never alone,
to guess or stress on progress
of that mass invading you
sparked by ecology's change
to accrue tissues untrue
deranged limp in the exchange
until pulsing force vacates
through the tears welling inside
as their chemicals placate
to guide you outside doe-eyed
with papery sympathy
numbing such churning decay
to quake me with empathy
this day as you drift away.
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