Tag Archives: Poetry

In The Spirit

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The passionate call of the joined heart beat
Felt long past when the heart was nubile
The feeling of spring’s first blooms so sweet
The old memory that still makes me smile
It’s the urge at a concert to just weep
The comfort at night when I fall asleep

The piece that’s with me wherever I roam
In the spirit of land, of heart, of home

The knowing when it’s my time to let go
After countless days and nights on this earth
A song on the end of the world I know
That began playing since the day of my birth
As my Deity holds my life in sway
I am drenched peace, as though it’s my last day

For I know I’ve lived the best way I can
In the spirit of love to fellow man

The not so free will that brings me to here
Those voices of guidance to go or to wait
Gifts of inner light to make the dark clear
Past lessons that leads me to paths straight
The persons I feel when no one is there
When needed their presence snakes through the air

Their hands go right through me like ghosts and walls
In the spirit of the ancestral call

A coat of many colors dark and fair
Sometimes it is sparse, sometimes it flows free
Those are my scarves and my rings that I wear
The glow of words that accessorize me
The trifle of rhyme that falls just right
The feeling that haunts “post this tonight”

Paint, pencils, pens and pixels I use
In the spirit of the magic I call Muse

The delightful joy I can’t put into words
The raw anger growing above the din
The most quiet of calm I’ve ever heard
The connection of love with my close kin
The slow chill of knowing hell’s on its way
The warm glow of just being, that needs no say

And it’s to my core when I feel it
In the spirit of living in the spirit
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar: Your Voice–Let’s Hear It!

Come my Maestro

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Come my Maestro
It is time
For an interlude

Play me

Tinkle the lines of my throat
The soft, ripe, plush
Of my mouth
Like the keys of a piano

Strike a chord within me
And make me feel
Wanton

Your strong fingers caress
Along the curve of my hips
as I arch,
And give myself in
to your manipulations

You
Play
me

Like a fine instrument
Knowing just when to pluck
My strings

You create within me
A perfect concerto
Reaching crescendo
With your ravenous lips
Upon mine

We rise and fall
In rhythm
To the movements
Of your baton
Until the final note
Dies away
Deep within

And after this most brief
intermission
I dare say
It is worth the time
For an encore

Ce n’est pas?

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 94

Contented

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Sun
Dappled
Shimmering
Full of promise
With daylight dawning

Tears
Are done
I know this
Down to my core
As I stretch yawning

So
I rise
Contented
Feel my soul smile
In this new morning

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Welcome to the Arun.

A nonce poem created by friend and fellow blogger, GirlGriot. An Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one syllable with each line. 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x. There are no other rhyme or structural requirements.  Though all of hers, so far, were left aligned and not rhymed, I took a little poetic license here.

dVerse  Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 113

Welcome

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Traded as payment for overdue wage
She knows, though it’s gilded, it’s still a cage
She’s yet to see sun
Shipped from place to place, displayed on a stage
To those whose tastes prefer ones underage
For sick sense of fun

She’s told back home no one’s missed her absence
She does not believe in their evidence
But bows to their might
Forced to do things against her conscience
Knowing what they do to those called nuisance
Flees into the night

Thunder rolls, storm clouds brew:
It was the sound of His measure of her trouble
It was the sound of His dread for her plight

Bloodied to a near pulp from being beat
In deepest fear of the oncoming feet
It was much too near
Oblivious to the filthy concrete
She lays prostrate in the dark on the street
It’s all she can hear

Brought to this new land for a tidy sum
From a land she never asked to leave from
She was their plaything
Smelling of cocaine, and cheap stale rum
She lays there waiting for death to come
She hears them calling

Lightning strikes, raindrops pelt:
It was the sound as His anger mounts
It was the sound of His tears falling

Glass grinds into her already raw shin
The pain raises a moan from deep within
They hear her outcry
A tear is slowly sliding down her chin
As they plunder through her most tender skin
Knives do not ask why

As each breath she takes become more shallow
Smiling, she knows she won’t see tomorrow
Her end has begun
She’s raised from the filth in which she wallows
A shining light eases her deep sorrow
At last she sees sun

Dew drops, Sun rises:
It was the sound as His arms open
It was the sound of His words of welcome

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 93

The Quiet Before

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She sits in the window seat and sighs
wondering what malarkey would have
such cool gray shades of the overcast day
dull the warm hues that should be autumn
Her front lawn only a sliver off
the near gaudy emerald of summer
was still a vibrant green

A spring green she thinks

Spring when everything begins
with summer’s long stemmed promises
only to fall — the beginning of the end
an early trespass to winter

Nor does the contrast
of the blood red dianthus
against the bright white
of Queen Anne’s Lace escape her

Now past their prime
their wilted blooms too heavy
for their aged jade stems
like an unhanded puppet
leaned over in resolute defeat
to the inevitable

She reaches out in comfort
She reaches out for comfort
to the hands and the heavy heart
that shares all she feels now
as the back the door opens

The only pleasantry being the smile
that quickly departs his face
as wife and mistress turn to him
fingers interlaced, hearts ripped open
Fate catching them as off guard
as they have caught him now

In the quiet before…

 

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We All Still Know

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We sit and ponder the starkest
in night’s darkest,
catering to the fears we sow.
We all still know
the sum of all our fears denies,
the sun will rise,
revealing truths behind the lies.
And so we trust and carry on,
within the rays of each new dawn.
In night’s darkest, we all still know, the sun will rise.

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Another Oviellejo.

dVerse ~ Poets  Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 120

Being Human

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A chance design, or all His will?
I wonder still.
Holy? Profane? Scared? Obscene?
What does it mean?
Living each day the best we can,
Being human,
From birth to death each single span.
Combination of what we feel,
And all the ways in which we deal?
I wonder still, what does it mean, being human?

A new Oviellejo to ponder as you wander…

I sat here this morning bemoaning my current bout of insomnia and how it is taking finally its toll on me today. Cranky from lack of rest. Jittery from the excessive amounts of caffeine I’ve already consumed to get me through this day. A day that still has several more long hours in it before I can lay my head to rest and hope I can get some decent sleep tonight.

And then a friend posted a link: 40 Of The Most Powerful Photographs Ever Taken

To directly quote from the article “A moving collection of iconic photographs from the last 100 years that demonstrate the heartbreak of loss, the tremendous power of loyalty, and the triumph of the human spirit. Warning: Some of these will make you weep.”

I first saw this article when it came out last year. Some of the photographs will at least give you pause, it got to me then. As I went through these photographs again today, I realize nothing has changed. I felt that same sense of kin. For people from my own country and abroad. I find myself not just sympathetic, but empathetic to so many of them. People I never have and/or never will meet. Their raw moments of joys, pains, fears, courage.

I am reminded once more of the beautiful fragility that is the human element.

And oddly enough, I am suddenly wide awake and no longer cranky. Perspective is everything.

Here’s passing on a little of that perspective for your day:

Seriously, before clicking the link down below, if you’re consuming any food or beverage, put it down. In addition you may want to have a napkin/tissue at the ready for any cryi– I mean for any grit that may get stuck under your eyelid.

40 Of The Most Powerful Photographs Ever Taken

Updated to add: I suspect a certain photo of a man in a cowboy during the aftermath of the bombings at the Boston Marathon will be added to this list soon.

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Open Link Night — week 92

Weapon of Choice

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Do I commend? Do I condemn?
Letting you worry,
Brow arched, I smile – walk away.
My weapon of choice.

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(My apologies to those expecting Fatboy Slim / Christopher Walken :-p)

Learned of a new form yesterday – Naani

The Naani is one of the Indian popular Telugu poems. Naani means an expression of one and all. This very short form consists of 4 lines with the lines totaling 20 to 25 syllables. The poem is not bounded to a particular subject. Generally it depends upon human relations and current statements.

And Yet I Know…

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I smile as flowers start to grow
But yet I know
The season holds bittersweet sting
Every spring
The air hints warm, yet brings scant bliss
It’s you I miss
These moments when I go through this
This woe is never long to last
And joy of longer days come fast
But yet I know, every spring, it’s you I miss

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Welcome to the Oviellejo

The Oviellejo is an Old Spanish verse form (derived from ovillo, a ball of yarn). A stanza consists of 10 lines, with a rhyme scheme of AABBCCCDDC. The second line of each rhyme scheme, Line 2,4,6, is short line of up to 5 syllables. The last line is a “redondilla,” a “little round” that collects all three of the short lines.

Open Link Night ~ 91

Body Guard

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A mere soldier in an arsenal of many
Some richer, thus seemingly more refined
Some not worthy of holding their title
But none better than I

You walk among the ranks
Visually surveying at first,
I feel your eyes sweep over me
Your gaze – Piercing – Questioning
Before they look away
Then return

And choose me

I know others have sneered
At the numbers gone through in your quest
The many soldiers who served
and then failed, for they were not worthy
But I am worthy
So I, I say nothing…
How can I?
I who now have the duty of protecting you

I throw myself in harm’s way daily
Head-to-toe, back-to-front
Your first layer of armor in a harsh world
Knowing I’ve done my job well
Every time someone compliments

Your soft, supple skin…

For that honor, I thank you.

Your ultimate body guard,
Lotion

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Feeling a little had, but grinning nonetheless aren’t you? 😉

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting The Bar:Negative Capability