Tag Archives: #poem

A HUNDRED POEMS XV (Sonnet)

Sweet faith, come to me like a gentle breeze,
As darkness seeps, my soul seeks release.
My weather vane, once adorned with petals bright,
Now empty and forlorn, weeps in the night.

I stare above my fears, toward the sky,
And glimpse a golden glow that catches my eye.
It rises, kissing horizons with its embrace,
This is my faith, my dear, a saving grace.

Like a shower of blessings, my vane fills,
With the power of light, it gently thrills.
To feed my weathered soul, worn and tired,
Faith ignites a spark, in me, it’s fired.

With faith, I find solace in life’s cruel art,
It mends the broken pieces within my heart.
Like a symphony’s melody, sweet and pure,
Faith’s song envelops me, a divine cure.

Through trials and tribulations, it will guide,
With unwavering belief, I’ll walk beside.
The path unknown, my steps may falter,
But faith will lift me up, never to alter.

In the darkest night, faith becomes my light,
Illuminating my path, dispelling the fright.
It whispers courage, when I’m filled with doubt,
And in its embrace, I find strength throughout.

Oh, sweet faith, you’re a beacon of hope,
When life’s storms rage, you help me to cope.
Like a lighthouse standing tall in the storm,
Faith leads me to safety, keeps me warm.

A steadfast companion, through thick and thin,
Faith holds my hand, reminding me I’ll win.
In the face of adversity, I shall rise,
For faith’s unwavering belief never dies.

In the garden of life, faith’s the seed,
That blossoms into love, fulfilling our need.
Like a mighty oak, it stands tall and strong,
Guiding me forward, when things go wrong.

Faith is the gentle whisper in my ear,
When despair creeps in, filling me with fear.
It tells me to keep going, to never give up,
For with faith as my guide, I’ll reach the mountaintop.

Oh, faith, you’re the melody in my soul,
When I’m lost, you guide me back to my goal.
With your presence, I’m never truly alone,
For in faith’s embrace, I find a home.

Through life’s trials, faith becomes my shield,
Protecting me from wounds that never healed.
It guards my heart, keeping it safe and sound,
With faith by my side, I am always found.

With faith as my compass, I navigate,
Through the stormy seas, I never hesitate.
For I know, faith will lead me to the shore,
Where tranquility awaits, forevermore.

Oh, faith, you’re the anchor amidst the tide,
When the waves crash, you’re the strength inside.
You steady my heart, amidst life’s raging storm,
With faith’s unwavering presence, I transform.
Faith’s gentle touch brings comfort to my soul,
When sorrow takes its toll, and I feel less whole.
It wraps me in its arms, like a warm embrace,
With faith as my guide, I find my rightful place.

In the realm of possibilities, faith expands,
Opening doors, with hope it commands.
For where there’s faith, there’s endless potential,
To soar to new heights, beyond the conventional.

Oh, sweet faith, you’re the whisper of dreams,
When all seems lost, you ignite hope’s gleam.
You remind me of miracles, both big and small,
With faith, I believe, I can conquer it all.

Through faith’s lens, I see beauty unfold,
In the simplest moments, I witness stories untold.
It paints the world with colors so bright,
Filling my days with pure delight.

Faith is the melody that lifts my spirit high,
In its harmonious notes, my troubles die.
With each verse, it heals wounds deep within,
Restoring my faith in life, helping me begin.

Oh, faith, you’re the fire that fuels my soul,
Burning with passion, making me whole.
You ignite a spark, a flame deep inside,
With faith by my side, I fearlessly stride.

With faith as my guide, I conquer my fears,
For it strengthens my resolve, wipes away tears.
In faith’s gentle embrace, I find my worth,
Knowing I’m loved, even on this earthly turf.

Faith is the compass, pointing me true,
When the world’s distractions vie for my view.
It helps me stay focused on what truly matters,
Guiding me through life’s twists and tatters.

Oh, sweet faith, you’re the anchor of my being,
In your presence, my spirit finds its freeing.
You ground me in truth, love, and grace,
With faith as my guide, I find my rightful place.

Through faith, I see the beauty all around,
In every sunrise, every sight and sound.
It opens my eyes to life’s wonders untold,
With faith, I embrace a love that’s bold.

Sweet faith, you’re the key to my heart’s delight,
With you by my side, I’ll forever take flight.
In your embrace, I find strength and peace,
Oh, sweet faith, may your love never cease.

:: 07.10.2023 ::


A GIRL WITH KALEIDOSCOPE EYES

WHEN i think of my precious mind
and i am just down there
just one more wine ~~ we’ve all
gone crazy ., in the small room sitting
and thinking, “Just one more drink”

rolling inside the head /that had
me almost tied\ like butterflies
flying away bye bye | i saw her
: alice running inside the Rabbit
Hole \ reality hypnotized almost
had me tied || i now realize
how the never showers of rain
like dirt dammit — i am sick
and tired of my head but someone
saved me______almost had me roped
and tied ~~~ and like butterflies

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

We ate marsh mellow pies and coughed
a lung and used it as an umbrilla

The deep immortal human wish,
the timeless will:

           Cinquez its deathless primaveral image,   
           life that transfigures many lives.

   Voyage through death
                                 to life upon these shores.

And the line at the theater was long so we rode off
finding silver roads and lights within the skies

And Gluck said:

It is not the moon, I tell you.
It is these flowers
lighting the yard.

I hate them.
I hate them as I hate sex,
the man’s mouth
sealing my mouth, the man’s
paralyzing body—

and the cry that always escapes,
the low, humiliating
premise of union—

And lucy sings her song in the skies

:: 07.07.2023 ::


DOCTOR BEAKY OF ROME

AT the scene of suicide
plague doctor of Marseilles
stopped by with two small
nose holes in a mask;
a respirator containing
aromatic items — beak
holding dried flowers

Blessed is me
while i am a beak of terror
keeping away evil smells

All according to miasma theory
all my costume kills
before the children wail
so i am the plague doctor
of Marseilles aka ‘Dr
Beaky of Rome’
Follow me into the Sun

So follow me as One
such absurdity is life
to be born without a gun

i am the wounded One
you are the victim
the victim of life and love

:: 06-01-2016 ::

Poet’s Notes:

“Doctor Beaky of Rome” explores the theme of mortality and the role of a plague doctor in the context of the Marseilles plague.

The poem opens with a vivid scene of suicide, drawing attention to the dark and morbid atmosphere.

The presence of the plague doctor, characterized by the two small nose holes in the mask and a beak holding dried flowers, highlights the doctor’s role in combating the plague and protecting against harmful odors.

The phrase “Blessed is me” suggests that the plague doctor finds a sense of purpose and fulfillment in his terrifying task of warding off evil smells and the threat of disease. The reference to the miasma theory reflects the prevailing belief at the time that diseases were caused by noxious odors or “miasmas.” The doctor’s costume is seen as a form of protection that inadvertently contributes to the deaths it seeks to prevent.

The line “before the children wail” implies that the doctor’s presence and actions may cause distress and fear among those he aims to save. Despite this, he continues his duty as the plague doctor, earning the nickname “Dr Beaky of Rome” for his association with the city. The phrase “Follow me into the Sun” could be interpreted as an invitation to face the harsh reality of life, even in the face of suffering and death.

The subsequent stanza introduces a shift in perspective, urging readers to embrace life’s absurdities and contradictions. The phrase “such absurdity is life” suggests that the inherent contradictions and unpredictability of life are inevitable and must be accepted. The line “to be born without a gun” metaphorically conveys the idea that life itself is inherently vulnerable and fragile.


The Waning Sun

I dreamed a dream, yet was it purely so?

The sun, once fierce, had dimmed its vibrant glow,
And every star in ceaseless darkness roamed,
Aimless, lightless, from their pathways home.
The frigid earth, in distant shadows veiled,
Spun blindly in the abyss where the moon had paled.
Daybreak stirred, yet brought no dawn, no light,

And all mankind, consumed by despair’s chilling blight,
Forgot their passions in this bleak, forgotten fight.
All hearts turned ice, their warmth a forgotten trait,
Praying selfishly for dawn, to break the night’s cruel weight.

By fire’s meager light, they clung to fleeting life,
While thrones and kings burned bright, fueling their strife.
Cities crumbled, and the people in huddled throngs,
Gathered ’round their flickering fires, steeling against wrongs,
Those fortunate bathed in the volcanic blaze’s might,

For all the world was but a canvas of terror and spite.
Forests blazed, and hour by hour, the blackened night
Crept, casting all within its inky, endless blight.
Men’s faces, touched by uncertain firelight,

Wore an eerie, ethereal, phantom-like sight.

Some shed tears, others laughed with harrowing might.
And all around, the world crumbled to the dust.
Birds quaked, beasts shook with primal, raw fear,
And serpents hissed, but all in vain, as they drew near

To perish by those hands they once held dear.
War, paused briefly, rekindled its blood-soaked delight,
Feasting on the land, tallying each gruesome fight,

As all love fled from the earth’s barren, lifeless sight.
Famine ruled, and each living thing
Preyed upon the flesh of dying, the macabre’s sickening ring,
Until bones and flesh became but relics

Lost to time and the tale of future epochs.
Even dogs turned on masters in desperate plea,
Yet one loyal beast remained faithful, ever free,
Guarding his fallen lord, casting aside his needs,

Against the ghastly throng, his loyalty indeed,
Of beasts and men, until at last, he gave his life,
A pitiful, plaintive cry, loyal in the face of strife,
Licking the hand of his silent master, lost in strife.

The crowd thinned, and yet only two survived,
Two foes, who met beside an unhallowed shrine,
Gathering sacred relics for a profane sign,
Skeletal hands scraped feeble ashes, faces lined,

Exhaling their final breaths to craft a mocking light
That jeered them both, until they saw their shared plight,
And in their terror, they perished, nameless in the night,
For famine had stripped them to a ghastly sight.

The world was barren, void of life’s mark,
A wasteland of hard clay, absent tree or herb,
River, lake, or ocean, all silent and stark,
And rotting ships languished on a lifeless sea, unperturbed.

Masts crumbled, silently into the still sea bound,
And waves lay dormant, while tides slumbered in their graves.
The moon had faded, and winds lay unfettered, unbound,
As clouds perished, leaving nothing in their wake to save

The world from darkness, for she was the universe,
And in her shroud of night, no life left to converse.

:: 24.06.2023 ::


ENCHANGED MELODIES: A NUTCRACKER’S FLIGHT

In a realm of dreams, where magic takes flight,
Dancing through wonder, bathed in soft moonlight,
A symphony unfolds, enchanting to the ear,
A timeless tale that all hearts hold dear.

Oh, behold the Nutcracker’s grand debut,
A whimsical overture, a captivating view,
Notes pirouette, swirling in the air,
As melodies whisper secrets, beyond compare.

From the Land of Snow, where cold winds blow,
A waltz of snowflakes, in graceful flow,
Each delicate flake, a diamond in flight,
Glistening and sparkling, in the wintry night.

Then, to the realm of sweets, we find our way,
Through the Kingdom of Sweets, where joy holds sway,
Sugarplum fairies twirl in colorful delight,
Their delicate feet gliding, pure and light.

Marzipan candies come alive, dancing in glee,
Flutes and trumpets, in harmonious spree,
Chocolates and bonbons join the sweet parade,
A confectionary spectacle, none can evade.

Amidst this tapestry of dance and song,
A tale of courage unfolds, bold and strong,
A Nutcracker, transformed by a magic spell,
Leading Clara on a journey, where wonders dwell.

They meet the Mouse King, in a battle fierce,
Clara’s bravery shines, her heart to pierce,
The Nutcracker triumphs, the spell is broken,
A victory celebrated, words unspoken.

In this Nutcracker Suite, a world unveiled,
A symphony of dreams, where reality is veiled,
Immerse in the melodies, let your spirit take flight,
And behold the magic of this enchanting night.

:: 01.01.2000 :


SLAVES TO ANNIHILATION

INSIDE the mind resides unwritten, unsung unworldly laws

—the dust meets the dirt the flesh releasing blood ;

a propensity of the circle called Life.

how we try and kill it all away only to remember
everything said, seen, felt and done has universal
purpose.

Oh sweet One how everyone climbs the walls

reaching for it all only to find it mud then we slide down.

We wear a crown of imprisoned madness
as most to never again feel a thing.

and we never break away because we’re alone

Each month, season, decade, century

we remove all that empire we call

humanity.

Once a ghost now hallucinations are more alive.

That we dreamt everywhere now just slaves

to annihilation.

:: 03.16.2022 ::

Poet’s Notes:

The opening line creates a space of introspection, suggesting that our mind is a place of “unwritten, unsung unworldly laws.” This could be interpreted as our innate sense of morality or the unspoken rules and norms that govern our thinking and behavior.

The line “the dust meets the dirt the flesh releasing blood” can be seen as a symbol of mortality and the inevitability of death, a theme which is often present in existentialist literature. The fact that the dust meets the dirt may reflect the biblical sentiment of ‘from dust we are, to dust we will return’, while the flesh releasing blood could be an image of sacrifice or struggle.

The following phrase “a propensity of the circle called Life” depicts life as a cycle, underlining its repetitive and inevitable nature. The use of the word ‘propensity’ implies an inclination or natural tendency towards this cycle.

The next stanza evokes an image of desperate striving and futile attempts to escape the harsh realities of life. The imagery of people “climbing the walls” only to find “mud” and “slide down” speaks to human ambition and the often disappointing outcome of our efforts. This can be a critique of materialism and the relentless pursuit of success in modern society.

The phrase “We wear a crown of imprisoned madness” is a striking metaphor for the human condition. It suggests a royal burden of insanity, possibly due to the pressures and absurdities of life that we’re forced to bear.

The passage “Each month, season, decade, century / we remove all that empire we call / humanity” implies that over time, we are slowly stripping away our humanity. This may refer to the loss of values, empathy, or our connection to each other and the world around us.

In the line “Once a ghost now hallucinations are more alive,” the transformation of a ghost into a hallucination could symbolize how our fears and worries, initially intangible, can grow to dominate our perception of reality.

The closing phrase “That we dreamt everywhere now just slaves to annihilation” concludes the poem with a sense of fatalism. The word ‘dreamt’ hints at past aspirations and hopes, now reduced to servitude to ‘annihilation’, which could be a metaphor for death, oblivion, or the destructive tendencies of mankind.

Overall, the poem conveys a bleak yet introspective view of human existence, filled with struggle, disillusionment, and existential angst, provoking the reader to consider the cyclical nature of life, the pressures of society, and our own mortality.


BEAUTIFUL WORDS

Abyssopelagic reminds my heart
of lost love at sea
/diaphanous without light\
breaking white and black keys
making melliflouous
waves ~~~~
\meeting quadrivium.

the world of beautiful words.

:: 06.02.2023 ::


Ode to Nothing

When I believe in love that
may never cease to be
the man I am has become me
Before the night has waxed
Before the candle leans forth
I hold upon the temple
a heart who made me my own
grassy knoll sleeps of love
and scents of nature’s romance
is when I feel complete
I have tasted the elixir
of faery power — the unreflected
love of my own happiness
to be just to be
to love and nothingness
is quite the feeling in life


BRAVEST OF WRITER DRINK PROSE

Oh, dearest seeker of linguistic lore,
With ardor I embark on this poetic chore.
In a symphony of syllables, I shall impart
The marvels of English pronunciation, an intricate art.

Listen closely, Jenny, as I guide your way,
Through a labyrinth of sounds that often sway.
I’ll weave a tapestry of words, both bleak and bright,
And together we shall venture into this poetic night.

Corps and corpse, horse and worse,
A quartet of phonetic universe.
Your mind, Jenny, shall dance in dizzying delight,
As I unravel the mysteries, unveiling them to light.

A tear may fall from your sparkling eye,
And a delicate dress may rend with a sigh.
But fear not, for my devotion is true,
I shall suffer alongside you, as this journey ensues.

Now, let us compare heart, beard, and heard,
A triad of words that seem absurd.
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, with caution they must be heard.

Britain, retain, oh mind the way they’re written,
Let not their spelling leave you smitten.
And worry not, I shall not pester you so,
With words like plaque and ague, which bring much woe.

But heed my counsel, speak with utmost care,
For break and steak differ from bleak and streak.
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Devoid of trickery, I enunciate,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, oh so great.
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles.

Scholar, vicar, and the lingering cigar,
Solar, mica, war, and journeys afar.
Anemone, Balmoral, a touch of grace,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel, embrace.

Gertrude, German, wind, and thoughts so kind,
Scene, Melpomene, the tapestry of mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with the ballet’s sway,
Nor bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet’s display.

Blood and flood, they do not align with food,
Mould does not echo should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load, and broad,
Toward, forward, reward, let their harmony applaud.

And when your pronunciation rings clear,
Croquet, a game of leisure, let it appear.
Rounded, wounded, grieve, and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Ivy, privy, famous, clamor’s song,
Enamor rhymes with hammer, strong.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, and comb,
Doll and roll, some and home, find their home.

Stranger, anger, a subtle difference found,
Devour, clangor, their rhymes astound.
Souls and foul, haunt and aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant.

Shoes, goes, does, let them gracefully flow,
Finger, singer, ginger, linger, in succession they show.
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge, and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.

Query, very, they don’t mirror each other,
Fury and bury, neither do they smother.
Dost, lost, post, doth, cloth, and loth,
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.

Seemingly small, these differences stand,
Actual and victual, hand in hand.
Refer and deafer, they part ways,
Feoffer, zephyr, a gentle breeze conveys.

Mint, pint…

:: 06.01.2023 ::


I SEE BLUE WAVES UPON THE OCEAN’S SOUL

I

Whence does the self emerge, as I unbind from the glacial bloom?
What adoration lingers within that feminine reverie’s realm?
In love’s force, betwixt ecstasy’s embrace,
Where his palm parts the captured gull,
Unconscious eyes disclose intricate tales,
Veiling existence’s essence, that which conceals.

II

I hold affinity for all that resides,
Shadowy whispers of quotidian nourishment,
A vessel’s wake, fading into oblivion’s grasp.

‘Tis the tremor of the abyss, embracing abundance,
A woman donning stockings of ethereal velvet.

Arrange, we must, the waves, diverse and arrayed,
The melancholy, thou embodiment,
Or one who, world idolized, ventures forth,
Knees adorned with wings, poised mid passion’s flight,
Within love’s central day,
I shall never deceive, but embrace entirety’s plight.
Freedom, mine, in its cruelest form,
Behold the insular artistry,
Where danger finds solace, its taste revered.

Love, the transgressor of societal norms,
Customs yet to be acquired, in anticipation we wait,
Love, exalted, with all its rightful claims,
And the ever-transforming world,
Glimpsed through kaleidoscopic gazes, each day anew.

:: 05.21.2023 ::