Vault
tangerine entranced
dazzle daze delight
visionary bard inspired by
vista
Horizon
crimson red
dream paint sketch
brushstroke maestro’s gift from
heaven
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.
If you want to participate
in the pool events
at the Olympic rings
you literally have to be
right in the swim of things
and you really ought
to be on top of things
if the balance beam
is your sport
or if it's high jump hurdles
or pole vault
you should get over them
to a fault
the Olympic rings were created
giving athletes wings
by Charles Pierre de Frédy Baron de Coubertin
dubbing him 'Lord of the Rings'
No jack-of-all-trades
but master of one
it's safe to say
the combination spun
Jack was a safecracker
had it down pat
and a crackerjack
cracksman he was at that
not a people person
he'd sneak down halls
more a steeplejack
and shinny up walls
jimmy a window
then with stealth
jewels unload
remove the wealth
crack the code
find the fault
turn the tumblers
open the vault
locks he'd smash
break the bank
relieve the loot
of locked stashed cash
Some say...Walt Whitman's the poet's champ!
His works were well read, by dim oil lamp.
But, oh so long winded,
Those words never ended...
Woe, ritual champ of reader's cramp
To have a holiday named for you,
you must be greatest we ever knew.
You must be the bestest of the best -
one who eclipses all the rest.
Some say, when all is said and done,
no one beats George Washington.
Others lift their voices in praise to sing
of the Reverend Martin Luther King.
But who's the best at running at a hole,
and jabbing in it a long pole,
and sailing high up into the air,
and clearing a bar with room to spare?
All I'm really trying to say,
is Happy Mondo Duplantis Day.
How does Mondo while the time up there,
As he soars high in the sky of blue?
Why, he visits Mary Poppins there,
Along with clouds, and lovely birds too.
I sat, uninspired, in my condo.
When on TV, no routine John Doe
Flew above a balloon
And then over the moon,
That amazing pole vaulter, Mondo.
Beneath the arched vault of infinity, immerse yourself in the mystified blue,
Where loneliness utters incantations in silent reverberations
With a tempered voice,
In melodies of screaming blue, divine sarabandes,
Deep tones from a subtle bass, dotted with electrum sparks.
Listen in the azure penumbra to the bright furies of stillness,
The piercing, insinuating hiss of a voice in indigo and soiree,
Painting a picture in clandestine duet,
With feathers of vibrant azure and the nocturnal trees of the sky.
Blue invokes a sacred lexicon, the cryptic nimbus of aquamarine,
A work in melodic tones, an archaic poetry, balm for the soul,
Deciphering the serene hieroglyphs of the firmament,
Minor verses that nestle in the endless azure plain,
In a prose text adorned with noble crocus flowers.
Blue upon blue in unhurried hymns,
Voices whispering gracefully green the evening’s blue adornments
Of the lullaby fluttered in celestial waves,
In the cobalt ocean of encompassing midnight hope,
Speaking with wisdom, in the mysterious language of blue.
When l look back on my life
The moments l tend to remember
Are ones of pure unconditional kindness
So pure and tender
Locked away in my hearts vault
Available, safe and sound
When feeling disappointed or disillusioned
I open that vault…..restoring my faith abound
Peonies plum and white
on the table of grace
at nigh sundown's scarlet;
greet the hour with fragrance
as dusk becomes starlit.
Peonies plum and white
bring joy to the evening
of gold tinged memory,
from the gemmed purple vault
of old time's treasury.
Peonies plum and white
from the sunlit glory
of peach, satin breezes;
frills in vanity's vase
with a charm that pleases.
Peonies plum and white
in a hint of gold rays
at evening of the noon;
as grape shadows turn black
in shadows of the moon.
Memories fade
Not vanish
Kept locked in the depth
Of our minds vault!
These days good cars oddly somersault,
So this jeep you keep ridding of fault
Big cash you shall be getting plus malt;
Journey time I might speed catapult;
Now,alive and kicking,next in vault...
My dear wife won't fancy the result:
Sure to her hit like rudest insult
Today,jeeps could neatly somersault
And I mean the serviced for cursed fault
But their mechanics neatly assault,
Their Goliaths kill with catapult
If you can,you should this bravely halt
Here cars are the meals and you the salt.
Memories fade
They do not vanish
Just kept locked in the depth
Of our minds vault!
The strength of mankind,
The seat of his power,
Assailed by conflicting thoughts,
Troubled by opposing preferences,
Pressured by ambivalent choices,
If left unguarded,
It breeds nettles and briers,
Stifling its positive reins,
It can't be left fallow,
A sign of inertia,
It can't be left to hibernate,
A sign of unconsciousness,
Its doors can't be shut,
A sign of the end of sojourn,
As much as it can be,
Its doors must be left open,
Barricading every turbulent flow,
Edging away every foul infiltrate.
March 6, 2022
Consciousness Fulcrum Poetry Contest
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