The crimson blood sport of chasing menopausal lure infusing the womb of creation by seed of celestial god’s making for want to promulgate a presence hitherto unknown by all that circumvents the establishment by virtual espousing rant authored by unknown cleric of ancient origin timelessly iterated epoch to epoch immemorial beheld by the present incarnation as pursuance toward an ineffable future
Encountering the work of artist Thijme Termaat ( I Paint ) via his YouTube posted video titled `I Paint’, I was quite impressed by his talent. Hours before I had started to write the following poem but it wasn’t materializing into anything I thought meaningful but then, subsequent to watching `I Paint’ and visiting Mr. Termaat’s website, I was inspired to complete the poem to represent all forms of artistic, creative talent :
Staring onto the blankness of the canvass page,
Watching as mysterious images take stage;
Not knowing their meaning, how to gauge,
Whether to be happy or, succumb to rage.
One by one, ceaseless, markings take on form,
Shaping contours that challenge a norm;
Imagination conspiring conflict with artisan’s forum,
Compelled to quell this brewing, mind-filled storm.
Hopeless to the helplessness of a moment pause,
To interpret translation by material, though fluid laws;
Rendering a final decision to what manifests, befalls,
To effect a meaning that has potentially, no true cause.
Cerebral energy transitions to a machine-like phase,
Inducing movement while the mind’s noiseless melody plays;
Pigmented colors of meaning, beyond just black and greys,
Capturing an image-thought, before it fades.
Snow flakes fall from a crying sky
Each sparkling crystal tells of time going by
The blanket of glistening white does not belie
Natural cycles of nature, begins from on high
Soon to come, billows of warm Spring air
Melting ice and snow, water for all to share
By brooks and streams meandering everywhere
Turn buds into blossoms with help of Sun’s energy glare
As the days grow long and temperatures rise
Spectrum of color abound, a feast for the eyes
Cascading fragrances waft about the skies
Summer, a time of charm, delight and surprise
The feast filled harvest bounty evidence to the coming Fall
The prelude period to Season’s last call
With temperatures dropping beckoning a sleepy lull
Announceing Winter’s arrival to Nature’s ceaseless crawl
Some among us achieve their dream goal, I’ve come to believe it’s because they’ve realized the secret of connection to:
Body and Soul
The human body, open to suggestion,
Given by cerebral mind projection;
Will by this, achieve wanted perfection,
Gaining ultimate skill, given by their connection.
The impediments to attaining this desireable goal
Are often taught by formal education, its potential price toll
A system structure that can alienate body from Mind-Soul
The true secret to what makes a human whole
Few in life realize the gift of this wondrous understanding,
Their achievements reflect it by perfomance outstanding,
More the reason all humanity should be commanding;
Reform to enhance education, with loud voice demanding.
Pursuance of lofty, dreamt life goals
Falling as casualty to whim’s realty,
Forgotten to past time domain
Yet, given chance, can be resurrected,
To again see light of promise
Transcended by strength of unyielding hope,
That tomorrow bares fruit; to see a brighter day.
the winds howl, lightening followed by thunder roar,
the house shaken violently to its foundation core.
snow laden pines sway to wind’s unabated force,
this wintery night is taking a viciously charted course.
sparkling crystal droplets of moisture reflect street lantern light,
their unbridled, swirling dance making for a wondrous sight delight
offsetting the harsh storm drama being played out this night,
abating even a shaken pet cat’s spontaneous fright.
cast in frozen watery cocoon of snow and ice,
all nature’s creation left clutched in winter’s vice,
defying its foreboding the picture created being visually nice,
it remains an experience not want to see happen twice.
While watching my cute, furry little buddy as he slept, eyes moving about under closed lids and the occasional twitching of his hind and front paws, gave me pause to wonder what is going on inside his little head, what dreams of might is he conjuring to stimulate his otherwise woken world of domestication? Hence the following:
LJ
heavy, eyes slumber from this world of domestication
to enter a nether world of dream’s creation
here as hunter, master of dens procreation
ruler to this land, championing challenge altercation
fed by the bowels of pray fallen by cunning
fear instilled onto others by presence stunning
senses staying acute even in restful sunning
the sudden lurch of power loins see them running
a sudden noise, sensory twitch commands immediate attention
awakening evolution script to assess the situation
muscles involuntarily poised to danger, a confrontation
manifesting only to be human master’s feeding subjugation
A dedication to those who died alone on the
fateful Costa Concordia pleasure cruise 01-13-2012
Upon entering Cabin 612, an eight by ten room
Little did I know, it would lead to my doom
That water would seep from every crack
Then the thought arrives: ‘Will I ever be going back?’
Alone I wait for help to arrive
But none will come, I’ll struggle to survive
As the last of lights finally flicker out
I’ll be over come with fear and try to shout
But no one will hear, for they have all gone
I nervously start to hum my favorite song
The water will rise leaving just a pocket of air
How much more of this will I be able to bare
With a sudden surge, water filling the room
I now know, it has become my tomb
Times like these suggest life is guided by fate
There seems little room for counter debate
Innocent, guided by optimism and pleasure
Life itself offering up so much to treasure
Then, unbeknownst, unannounced
From out of nowhere, death does trounce
In less than an instant, all is lost
For no matter of reason, no matter of cost
Times like these you know life is guided by fate
There seems no room, for counter debate.
This is the first in a series of Episodes of narrated poetry.
This first is titled: A Reader’s Tribute
Enjoy!
I have the enjoyment of some entertaining and stimulating dreams. Last night I awoke from a dream that had a visceral feel about it that I wanted to capture in some way. Hence this:
A caged room of men with nowhere to go
Captured by one disturbed with virile power to show
The gun in his hand-made sure this fact to know
The tension made palpable by not knowing when he’d blow
An anxious cough came from the back of the room
The man’s villanous eyes scanned looking from whom?
Coyly waving the gun in defiance – suggesting one’s fatal doom
No one dare stir knowing one of them is to die soon
Sadistically pointing the gun from one victim to another
Each failed pull of the trigger making the room shudder
Cowering in fear with nowhere to take protective cover
Some cried the lord’s prayer, others last love for their mother
The mad-man stalked about absorbing all his generated fear
He had some twenty men that moments ago toasted his cheer
Now they sat quivering not knowing if their death was near
Save for one standing in defiance, to make the point clear
Approaching the man standing, gun pointed to his head
The simple pull of the trigger, in seconds, the defiant one would be dead
But a strange thing happened, something else instead
The mad-man embraced him knowing a true brave man he’s bred.
naykdpoet 