An etheric drill whirs in our third eye,
guru and crown chakras following suit,
the vibrant bliss hum causing heart to sigh,
as breath by breath our stillness we reboot.
Navel to crown now is the central vein,
in as cognised, as a pillar of light,
wherein capsuled consciousness we retrain,
imbibing bliss, heightening heart’s delight.
Each node renews itself within itself,
as dynamic stillness whilst in motion,
etching within luminescence of Self,
where we as the drop become the ocean.
Sipping nectar of bliss as it does spill ~
We shape shift and metamorphose at will
in seeming silence heart yet stirs
expressions of life pulse innate
bliss bubbles never do abate
thus hum of silence always purrs
to which vibrant presence concurs
nonchalant to outcomes of fate
as long as nodes within gyrate
joyous as soul star chakra whirs
we would take a consciousness leap
flowing with ease as does the breeze
becoming a flicker free flame
to which end we swim in the deep
each heartbeat embrace and release
whence God Himself fulfils our aim
The silent hum of divine magnetism,
this morn has ignited the head ovoid,
heart, spine and all nodes in mind-body prism,
state of being-ness pure and unalloyed.
The tip of nose chakra whirs with vigour,
whilst the soul star node glistens on our head,
with toroidal heart as always demure,
looks to crown and third eye where bliss is bred.
All the vertebrae in our spine align,
fused together now as a seamless whole,
that thus though caged in form we feel divine,
radiating God’s light scriptures extol.
God’s hand, a disc of light, supports our back ~
Magnetised head to toe, we feel no lack
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The subway whirs~
a thousand hands press close
in warmth, not fear.
Streetlights blink like
fireflies trapped in chrome.
Laughter climbs brick walls,
a thousand lives buzz,
entwined~
The city breathes.
We're not alone.
poem submitted to Ultramarine Review Literary Magazine for its contest on the topic of urbanity.
Hurl the applecart
of crimson corruption
deep into a vortex
that whirs remorseless
and grinds to carbon
the bellowing chaos
spewed by mortals
voracious for victims.
Dread not the tremors
and tumult of wraiths
clamoring with poison fangs
to devour the light.
Hakuna metata
In the fields
of broiling air
plump lambs gambol.
The daytime star
smiles and whirs;
a lone tortoise toils
in plodding rhythm.
His docile baritone sings
the timeless chorus
“Hakuna metata!”
to fretting lions
who grapple tousled
and tangled.
Night sparks open as the city stirs
Carts roll in with clattering metal and whirs
Charcoal pops where the isaw turns
Smoke drawing ribbons as the skewer burns
Kwek-kwek stacked like tiny setting suns
Crisp shells waiting for the rush of hungry ones
Fish balls jitter in their bubbling bath
Vendors calling routes like a seasoned craft
Balut passed warmly like a whispered trust
Salt and broth rising through the evening dust
Every corner alive bold and bright
Manila seasons life bite after bite
in the mouth of desire, inverted spires
lean toward the grots of Hell.
tongues forked, skewered with sapphires
in the mouth of desire, inverted spires.
Adam's apple burning cores, as moths for martyrdom's fires.
on the path to perdition: many had attended well.
in the mouth of desire, manipulation stirs.
the crone fanning her cauldron
a hot vat of ruin, Wiccan shrieks and whirs.
in the mouth of desire, manipulation stirs -
a warlock's cherished heart of burrs,
tears of crocodiles, his every gentleness abandoned.
in the mouth of desire, sirens sweet, curses
lure purple wearers and weavers, beasts with saints,
low_down to the broad gates, gilt black, swinging purses.
in the mouth of desire, sirens' sweet curses
but wisdom's rare jewels, bereft in their verses.
for want of wisdom, man's sovereign will faints.
Tympani, beat tremendous!
Like thunder roll above!
Dark matter a-tenebrous;
Knowest thou of love?
Ah, young master. In good time!
Riddles, rivers, rhyme!
Griddle, fiddle, sugar, slime.
Covert cold cut chime.
All right, sir, but in earnest;
Full, brass bull, trull, wool?
Summertime, hot clime, addressed!
Roundabout red rule!
Well, it's you two! Black and Blue!
So, what else is new?
Eggs a-light, serpents a-few?
Kittens blind that mew?
Knights of the nebula pond!
Elders strong and wise...
Mighty warlocks, wave thy wand!
Prize? Between the eyes.
Adepts of tomorrow!
Always? Skies and greys.
Surcease, students, all sorrow.
Living for todays!
Miles are marked for travelers?
Yes, and reason thus:
Reality whirs, then blurs.
Black and Blunderbuss.
Rain, pour poems on prophets.
Nerves heal as they warp.
O floodwaters, try Tophet's.
Sailors, tamp the tarp...
Ah, behold
Prince William in uniform,
chiseled chin held high under ceremonial sunlight,
a speech polished like his medals,
echoing across parade grounds
as cameras hum like obedient bees.
“Duty, honor, courage,”
he proclaims,
as if reading from an antique scroll
dusted off for dramatic effect.
Crowds swoon.
Generals nod.
Newspapers burst into patriotic confetti.
And somewhere, in mahogany offices,
other leaders lean forward—
inspired, invigorated,
tugging at their tailored lapels,
murmuring, “Yes, yes, it’s time I put on a uniform too.”
What a pageant!
Suitors of war now march with princely conviction,
banners of legacy fluttering in the breeze of manufactured glory.
Recruitment numbers spike,
missile budgets blossom,
and drones, oh so dutiful,
take flight with newfound moral purpose.
Peace?
A quaint notion—
better saved for museum plaques and children's books.
The Prince has spoken.
The machinery whirs louder,
oiled by rhetoric,
driven by legacy,
and crowned by applause.
aligned with spine
slow heat spreads
radially in our back
third eye twinkles
the navel whirs
jugular notch throbs
orifice in fontanel
expands to admit
grace as it in-pours
magnetised palms
poised to heal
hum with power
soles of feet
tuned in to the beat
ground us to Mother Earth
as both Holy Spirit
and organic form
we become the all
As in the void we wingless fly,
stardust sparkles in our third eye,
orifice in fontanel whirs,
causing tremulous heart to sigh.
Divine magnetism within purrs
as flow of soma nectar stirs
polarities within our form,
infusing bliss when heart concurs.
Ascent begins when we conform
to God’s grace, fearless in the storm,
witnessing death of our ego,
paving way for soul to transform.
tip of nose vibrates
hum of bliss whirs
compelling focus
to make eye single
in time dissolved silence
magnetic pulsations
dance in the vibrant void
heart picks up by resonation
the rhythm to which it is drawn
which then echoes in toroidal heart
In the kitchen, pots clatter and pans clang,
The blender whirs as the kettle hisses and sings,
A spoon clinks in a mug, stirring tea,
While toast pops up with a little ding!
The cat purrs on the counter, eyes half-shut,
The dog’s tail thumps as it begs for crumbs,
The fridge door squeaks as I grab some jam,
And the bread squishes between my thumbs.
Suddenly, the phone buzzes with a ring,
I yelp and drop my toast—what a sight!
Jam-side down, it lands with a sticky splatter,
And the dog licks it up with pure delight.
Breakfast chaos, a daily dance,
With sounds that play a silly tune.
But in this noisy morning trance,
There’s magic in each messy swoon.
#Onomatopoeia# #OnomatopoeiaPoetryContest#
My love for words can create mental pain-
when they race around in my befogged brain.
I sit here dreaming- pen held in my hand;
mind burning aglow with ideas so grand.
Annoying but frank, these often don't meet.
The paper stays blank- my head whirs in heat.
May go on for hours- these frenzied word games
in seeking a crack to set free the strains;
spinning and whirling for clear words to find-
metaphor, imagery- meter combined.
What comes to mind has been said before-
needed are words to unfold and restore
old themes of nature and love redefined;
God above, ourselves, the woes of mankind-
of life and death- of sad wars and true peace.
These variant themes need a new release!
Burst open, you seed! Expose yourself bare
so I can soon grasp the words to prepare-
and push forth a poem through this foggy light
to offer a gift from my mental plight!
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