Bathing in the stars

 

 

Bathing in stars

 

Sparkling fireflies of the night,

With a penchant mystery for echoing lit solitude.

The secrets of the star with undetermined energy,

Speaks of their astrological jargon repeated in the travel of time.

Earth dwellers ride the twinkles with foggy eyes seeking truths.

A sign perhaps eloquently diluted of its meaning over time.

I sent a muse to the seductive moon who roams to the twist of madness,

Stirred in a basket of thoughts confined,

Static, in the symphony of the sky.

I wrote a message within a message which twinkled up the sky.

I ate into grief momentarily to banish an essence.

If I could unshackle myself from this prison,

And I would take wing as of yesterday and bathe in the stars.

 

 

Advertisements

Confidence in a seed

Hello everyone.  I hope you are all well.  Time slips away and when looking back we tell ourselves how fast time is going it boggles your mind at times.  Enjoy every moment as we do not know when we will leave the earth journey.  Be well, my friends.  Below is a poem I wrote in 1979 with my foray into poetry writing in my English class when I was in High school.

 

 

 

Confidence in a seed

Only if we had,

Our confidence in a seed,

Without question,

Without understanding,

Just to let it be:

Into the invisible of confidence,

Which grows flowers,

Into recycling,

Without question.

 

 

Apocalyptical Seasons

 

 

 

Apocalyptical seasons

 

A blood moon frolicked to the astronomic blood dance, positioned in tyranny with humanity’s

fading memory of inequity.

All the weight on the scale of justice licks at the past, licking at its magical poison while

changing the season’s garment.

And the stain that plagues our mortality, a curse of birth with libations free flowing in heaven

is only a dream catcher of mockery?

The potter’s wheel spins me with a vertiginous hand shaping the universe that has had a

message sent into the invisible,

While all is hidden in a paradox, sealed with the fingers of flames which write secrets with an

enigmatic line in the sands of defiance.

Life grips the house of infinity with the windows of chance reflecting an image of incessant

jargon; a blind image sewn into the clouds of forewarning.

You become a belief in your own creation releasing the waltz of nightmares that scratch at your

essence to the chagrin of the last dot of spilled ink.

You witness images that chill your bones and stir you in the vortex of hostility.

The purging extension of pantomimes mimicking solitude throw pestilence to the mind which

jars the clanking of euphemistic prison bars.

The multitude driven to insanity with no shady corners to be hidden and no refuge from

predictions and prophecies have gone mad.

And the dragon’s shadow heeds no warning from the old soul travelling with the pen of

sorrows.

All has been seen before in the storm of tears, filling with transient thoughts of water,

spilling from frames within a frame.

The siblings of the vine serenade an evil empire with a betrayal of crossing over, within the

schism of nothingness.

I sewed the stars together glittering the sky with twinkles – a last hope of bread crumbs to see

beforehand what is to come.

Within my globe many clouds rose from the earth in the heat wave of winds dispersing

destruction:

An advisory to mankind of a bubbling cauldron of apocalyptical seasons and the thorns of the

rose brewing with a candle’s tear of horror.

And there it was.

A blood moon.

A sackcloth sun.

Apocalypse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A memory in a tear

 

 

A memory in a tear

 

The tears have vanished in another part of my heart.

My soul stills in the shadow as my knees go weak.

I throw sweet memories to the stars.

They twinkle my path where my soul is supposed to walk and to

be.

Your hands guide my heart and I shiver as I felt your touch

upon my face.

These are the goosebumps again from the other side.

And we meet in the harvest of dreams.

A meeting place where dreams are reality.

Dreams are where we make new memories.

Where our essence flows between the tangled and the untangled.

For the soliloquy plays out in my head over and over again.

A non-stop merry-go-round.

Then you went away and my love went with you.

I didn’t raise a breath when I fell into the dark.

Then you lit my sky bright.

And I found the world upside down.

The olive branch fell like thunder to the ground.

Wings rise when the day takes lift.

I am fermenting with the blossom of life.

With messages from beyond the veil.

Our essence beats to the tic toc of the ocean of souls.

My tear carried you to the afterlife.

I travelled this long road with many thoughts.

I would give anything to hear your heart beat once again.

I searched for you amongst the stars.

Sometime I think I shed of humanity.

I felt your touch

Upon my face.

A hand,

That is no more.

 

 

 

When clouds collide

 

 

When clouds collide

 

I feel the white clouds underneath my body speaking subliminally to an ethereal cacophony.

I chase ghosts in the naivety of mankind and the uniqueness into the realization with solitude

crying in an unspoken ether.

With the layover in lives perching precociously from my soil to your soil in returning with a

signature in blood to a state of impaled curiosity.

A wicked spark strikes the wantonness of flesh in the passages of shadows incarnated from

duplicate universes.

And in spite of a grand illusion suspended in our insignificance we drape ourselves on a bed of a

struggling conclusion.

A lack of time in the tapestry unravels the whole and reveals a programmed nakedness limited

to inferiority.

As a reminder looking to a distant calm pretending changes in the realm with many vibration

lost to time.

All the while thought collections scrutinize the winds that blow the souls away.

Overwhelming passion for destiny shakes the illusion of safety with badly constructed

comfortability which allows phantoms to search absurdity.

The wisp rising from my steeping cup of tea conjures up genies whose ideologies are to pave

spines with the deepest regrets.

And the clouds keep drifting with aspersions colliding with each creating new clouds of

traditions.

A sword comes slicing through your essence of consciousness only to retreat in its whims of

watched words losing inhibitions.

A forwarded hardened chance dictated between leaving a message and returning an exhausted

power.

With chivalry not being dead however half hidden with difficulty with the ability of deadening a

surreal agenda.

A destructive calling presents itself suffering the abstractions of a crowded testimony

submitted by a clandestine kiss of death.

Only a sudden metamorphosis begs to be in a forbidden chaos with a ravenous cryptic vibration

marked with spiritual lesions.

I say to you, “Get off my cloud. I’ll find a cloud for you.”

And this is when clouds collide