Day canto 2

Triple negative realty inversion Time Lapse from JJcccArt on Vimeo.

Returning starts with rest.

Exhale first, and then inhale.

Inversions.  

The root is in the middle now.

Though this is the same chord:

You, ego, and I.

I see: you're returning to base,

but for you –

you're leaving and distant.

The boomerang is thrown…

The truth

The bust of Queen Nefertiti in the Neues Museum of Berlin

The dabble of your power

have reached nowadays…

in thrill I lift my chin,

half-closed eyes

to see the sun disk

shining throughout the hall

above the heads of others…

The center piece -

with shallow breath

I read: ‘the beautiful comes…’ -

Illusive woman,

you could easily manifest

as multidimensional being…

I see you wearing false beard,

a pharaoh’s robe and kilt

wrapped around the body-

is this the reason

why you’ve disappeared…

Mummy hunters scour in vane

the dark tombs, excavating ruins;

regal throne stained by the trophies,-

the history keeps digging for truth.

Unfolding the future

skills - blast - revelation

we can’t forswear

that won’t see

victorious tall crown

at the head of

our saviors… 

by Brenda Warren

Read more at: Sunday Whirl, Magpie Tales.

Day canto

Frederick Meijer Gardens sculpture, photo via Migraine Chick

                 “Sunset like the grasshopper flying”.

                                                         Ezra Pound.

Twisted arms over a head…

Spera voices…

Hopping steps to the bath…

I feed grapes to the ladybug…

while get lost in your poems,

in their flux…

Apple-rape, my emotional day

finds me clinging for

the hands and arrows,

choosing gps-shorter/faster path.

Atmosphere of caring yet royal

tolerance and grace,

switching levels between

high and low,

changing ‘locks & dams’.    

Someone gets wax-poetic

watching hands-swans in play;

look for rhythm/melodic patterns

when your life on display.

On the way back –

a buzzing hand of egg timer

Deja vue – uncompleted desires,

obligations, encounters, tasks…

Pure suggestions:

‘Find your flow’, ‘Be real’,

‘Touch the ground’,

and all 24 hours:

‘Get optimized’.

Please, click the image to read more. Thanks!

Shared with Open Link Night d'Verse

A treasure

Courtesy of Mama Zen

An amplified profane 

in his liberal mode

able to miss

the ancient

reverberation,

the call of

a shell drums

seemed to him

a quarrelsome

hum…

I treasure it.

Read more at:  Poetry Jam, 

Three Word Wednesday,

Imaginary gardens with real toads

For the umpteenth time…

Art by Kay Griffith at Amsterdam Whitney Gallery

For the umpteenth time

the stars 've stretched

to touch with the sharp

edges the warm waters

of safety lands.

Spreading wet wings

to dry in day’s

mercantile spirit

I hide the vulnerable

smile

under the pillows’ pile,

prepare for the voyages

by heart’s mind,

I accept shapeless abstract

surreally thrown

on the canvas towel

in disgust of Resurrection… 

Shared with PU Poetry Pantry

Without hands

by Brenda Warren

    Words’ storming swarm

    entangled in the forest

    of my thoughts –

    magic hum…

    while the heart hangs

    for odd scent

    jumps to thrive

    in a potion of passion!

Read more at: Sunday Whirl

Take a snake for a snake*

You recognize her

by peaceful

in a solitude pose,

the nocturnal eyes

analyze…

until the time to mate:

shade the scales,

move restlessly

for the skin is a prison

aka shagreen…

well, but a smell

will attract the mates:

20 minutes away

they feel and crawl.

Fraught struggle for week!

Try to find one, the honorable

out of 100…hisssss!

She brings babies

wiggling…

only 2 out of 30

will  survive…

Then She just 

‘tongue in the cheek’

mom’s duty done

picks new sounds

from the ground…

Going, goes, gone…

On the move

in ‘S’ curve

Snake- queen.

zazzle.com

*The title's inspired by poem 'Illusion and Ignorance' by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

Read more at: PU Mid-Week Motif, Three Word Wednesday

Steps

Steps ~ courtesy by Tess Kincaid

Worn-out the skin

yet seductive content

invites to ascend

the scent of the

kerosene stove

so nostalgic…

Read more at: Magpie Tales

Nudge

“The moon will carry his candle.”

E. Pound.

I clung for slipping away taste-

a cinnamon in my coffee…

the reflection of vanishing days.

When turned over a corner- I found

new memory, faces, temptation-

old colors and tastes left behind.

New opened up emotions/feelings-

the heavy clouds, smoky and vivid,

yet menacing to leave before

I read the meaning of ‘em in Tarot-

defragmented in small

hail-drop particles

wet!

falling on my so delusional

head…

We're here, counting

the eclipses,

hiking to the moon

obscured from the view.

The shadow shrinks,

the moon awaits,

lit the candle,

rolling/turns the facets to

smiley, surprised, sad ones...

out of throat the Earth/school

-shot!

and all lackluster

honorable mentions

and honor certificates

come alive…

The last curious cheeky

sunbeam peeks in the room

just to witness the fall of million

manufactured bubbles at the ground.

Broken soap dreams

have never existed behind the door…

We walk…stomp-stomp…

remember the joke:

if God wanted us

to have only a head – 

he would created

the buns/kolobok.  

Brenda Warren

Read more at: Sunday whirl

Soul seeds

Photobucket.com

Washing the sins in the rain,

begging forgiveness,

you are plotting

a new adventure,

oh, restless soul!

You’re testing…

you’re testing such more of me…

you’re testing…

to explore hidden at root the seeds,

brought from another fates, constellations…

Who are they?

What lit their lantern?

What sacrificing gift

they've given to a melting pot

to synthesize in today?

Oh, omnipresent rain!

hold me tight in your flowing endeavors,

shapeless to satisfy the thirst –

if you please - clarify an eternity. 

Shared with PU Poetry Pantry

Mystery of Joy

'Occurrence' by painter Eric Aho

Come back to retreat,

stop by nostalgic

an eerie tides atmosphere,

guarded by stoic

reality of ‘c'est la vie’.

Contrasting key-images

are passing through

a translucent tunnel

of theatrical gesture.

Read more at: Three Word Wednesday, PU Mid-Week Motif

Obscurity

photo of 1850's ~ courtesy of Tess Kincaid

I trace what I see…

under my fingers

your lines vibrate

in resonance with

‘what would be if…’

so old motif,

the pattern of past times,

19 century’s hot lines,

an invention of free minds.

Read more at: Magpie Tales

Reunion

by swade_wade-d4ylse4 ~ deviantart.com

The days ’ve  returned

the way from grain to flower-

invisible to eyes, the change

sensed from within.

Tentative smile,

the glimpse afar,

the thoughts on the path

to find a trouble,

to solve the riddle

follow the heart’s compass.

The arrow. Detour.

The rooting numbers.

Life seemingly hangs out

for the straw.

The chocolate

cherry/berry ice-cream

reunion with ghosts-

they silently applaud

for efforts.

Proceeded in the dark,

where parallel lines crossed,

the rainy cape keeps

old sins sealed;

where blindly

reached the coast,

the arms with candle,

highlighted  bloody

footprints on the

ragged hill!

The days ’ve returned…

Who wished on…?

Who dares

to call them ‘mission’ ?

by Brenda Warren

Read more at: Sunday Whirl

Shared with PU Poetry Pantry

Agreement

iwallpapersfive.com

Time rolls. We grow new skin.

Insignificant layer at first.

It’s fragile, then gradually- rough.

I still remember the motive

of changing the role

while acting, behave

from the new customized

view and values.

New face, new style

dictates newer path,

but mouth keeps

on repeating

old phrases, words,

old tasks. -

Divulged.  - Imbalance

between a form and content.

An agreement’s broken inside…

Is it a godless desire

to ask the heart:

“Show my avatar…” ?

Read more at: Three Word Wednesday, PU Mid-Week Motif

The Mandala reading

A Game of Patience, 1937, Meredith Frampton 

I know, you don't want me to feel furious,

you're just being you, and I stumped there…

Bypassed hills and valleys, stretched far

through the railways, called to try a new.

We live in the different worlds’ values:

what you sacrifice for the security-

defines my core; where I'm extending

boundaries- feels delusional, mysterious…

When I come closer to the chance,

it always asks for the patience,

for retreat, to collect the facts, to commit,

to stay on the road until the end.

My sky becomes empty, the birds fly in 

unknown; untouched apples in the garden,

flowers turn in dry herbs; I wait…

The King of spades/swords – the guardian.

              …

‘Where feelings become an amusement-

the heartiness gets replaced by subtlety.’

Read more at: Magpie Tales