Author: poetryfest

“Love is the power of a wise man. It is a net for a lover. It is a tool for a clever man. Love is a song for a singer.” ― Debasish Mridha

Defining love is a complex purpose,
Everyone desires a yearning for this assumed human emotion,
Sometimes ego is misinterpreted as a certain,
Outside a beating heart engaged in slow-motion.
Attachments to sentimental feelings,
Admiring the passion from within,
Wanting empathic exchange in spiritual dealings,
You should grow a soul that exists outside the skin.

Nature vs Nurture,
Bonding beyond the expected romance,
The devotion between two people is a merger,
Knowing an individual’s spirit is the true climax.
Selfless love is unconditional,
An essence intertwined with the cosmos,
Identify harmony in what is critical,
Far from the imagery, deep inside what is close.

Relishing alone can be achieved,
Conjunctions are extra pieces of the cake,
Seeing requires mixed senses perceived,
Meaning more profound wisdom than just heartbreak.
My clarity on love is still undecided,
Positive forces established conflict if you attempt to articulate them,
Regardless, allow those options in and be divinity guided,
Precision of a cut diamond can be split as a hidden gem.

“Love is a more powerful force than magic. You can trick the mind and even the heart, but never the soul. When a person is not free to love with their soul, that is not love and that is why a love spell can never truly work.” ― Nikki Jefford Entangled

The ground of waves on the fabric of dress,
glimpse upon the mirror of power.
A fearless motivated sophistication of the princess,
divided the shallow vain of tower.

The reflection of the clouds on an ocean:
they’re like the reflection of sophisticated women.
The sky the covers them beneath the sun–
gives light than other men.

The tuck of shoes pointing at the center,
the sharp waves conducted by the female–
the seductress of ground voyager–
yes! They are the prowess tale.

If women are the dawn of night light,
the dancer under the clouds:
It would be queens of light–
yes, we are tougher than ocean of crowds.

The Chesapeake* Bay
200 miles long
is a meteor crater
few people know that.
Home to blue crabs
bass, eel, oyster, horseshoe crab
ospreys, great blue herons,
bald eagles, and peregrine falcons.

Known for its bounty, but now –
fewer crabs, oysters and watermen.
Nutrient pollution and urban runoff
ruined water quality in the bay.
shellfish were “overharvested”
doublespeak for overexploited.

My dad took us crabbing
brother John and uncle George.
Chicken wings
attached to hemp string
wrapped around my wrist
dropped into the Bay.

Blue Crabs are scavengers
they eat anything
snails, bivalves,
other crustaceans, fish, worms,
and sometimes human bodies.

I could feel them tug
from deep below
out of sight.

Slowly, slowly, slowly
I pulled that long string up
too far and they were gone
sunlight scared ’em off.

A net on a long pole
in my other hand
as I pulled one up
ever so slowly
and
just, just, just
as they came into view
I’d slide that net under it
sneaky like – they spook easy –
and I kept pulling
until, right ——- there
I had it in the net
too late for escape.

But it had life left
so dump it in ice
quickly
flesh-tearing claws
are powerfully strong.

That went on all day
until we had two bushels
of feisty fighting crabs
safely stowed on our skiff.

Later, we’d dump the
lethargic cold crabs
right out on the floor
looking for dead ones
– you don’t eat dead crabs
they might have been sick.

You don’t have much time
they revive quickly
looking for a fight
and they move quickly
on linoleum-covered floors
fun to watch
but dangerous to fingers.

Then we put them into
blue and white-speckled enamel pots
– quart of vinegar in the bottom –
covered them with
cups of Old Bay spice
The crabs were steaming mad
but steamed to red death.

After that, they were dumped
onto tables covered in newsprint
for a family feast
accompanied by beer
and they were delicious.

Living in a toilet,
tiny shit.
Small, square world,
growing slimmer.
We don’t fit.

Not enough money,
at the end of the month.
Chewing leftovers.
Hungering for more.

Poverty eats your dreams.

Police dissin’ us.
Brutal,
broke someone’s arm last week.
Spraying bullets, kicking down doors.
And they say we are dangerous?

A war on the streets,
against drugs,
against us.

Violence will eat your dreams.

We have to go,
back to our country.
We were born here,
where were you
when they handed us out
shitty jobs.

Racism will eat your dreams.

Media and politics,
playing ping pong.
Increasing hate,
dividng retoric.
We don’t get changes,
we will have to take them.

Obstacles will eat your dreams.
Dreams are all we have left.

Poet’s site is:

http://www.poemosaurus.com

I stared into the abyss one too many times
Tried to believe in things which aren’t and things which can’t
Their spectre now haunts my mind
Having lost touch with solid ground

I fell into epistemological despair
What is real and what is up for grabs
I did regain my faith in truth
Though somewhat diminished under new light

Next the years went flying by
A few times madness popped in to say hi
The world conspired against me, so it seemed
Tracking my moves through the clouds small waves
Waiting for a chance to bring me down
Just with the things I’ve done online

Now I’ve recovered at least a bit
My recent outburst was brief and swift
Sure it was still an ordeal
But I’ve dealt with it in what seems the right way

The future doesn’t look so bright as it once did
But in the end I still live

Rejection Accepted

Broken in pieces

Shards of glass

Ground to sand

But glass is made from sand

And to sand glass returns

And because of sand glass returns

But not without the knowledge

And the care of the process

Overseen by the Master

As each granule speaks

Thoughts of the Master

Creating His Master—pieces

Working

All things together

The glass is formed again

Tempered for the next use

Yet able to be broken again

And reformed

The process of a life

Given over to brokenness and repentance

And trust

Because they knew

Their Master cares for them

And then…

Perfect love, reciprocal to all

—
Randy Goss
Founder: Stuff With A Message Inc
http://passionscall.wix.com/the-recorder

Butterflies & Hurricanes,
Paradoxes forgotten to mythology,
Lovers stuck in their ways,
Closure of relevant applied psychology.
Opposite forces mending conceptual sprits,
They serve as sources confining a vacuum of righteousness,
Ominous attractions display conjunctions of kinesis,
Bone marrow validity other than what is considered spineless.

Touch of the handle of the metaphorical door,
Breaking down framework enters the madman,
Wondering about all sides of what to stand for,
Captures those who have an open attention span.
Alter ego reflections to smoke on,
Rumination towards, a torch and a light,
An exchange of a sender and receiver under automation,
Specific greymatter between the duality of black and white.

Throwing cautions to the wind,
Targets of structure are locked in positions,
Alive, humbled when being skinned,
Objectivity locates truths aligned in non-broken traditions.’
Composition processes in dance,
Determining to not fix what is inherently complete,
Doubt is putting faith in circumstance,
You will know when touch executed is bittersweet.

“The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited.” – Stephen King, Bag of Bones

Chocolate and vanilla –

Antipodal-

And yet as they collide

Create

A perfect concord,

An Amity of traits.

Such was the harmony

Of the frozen desert

Afore them.

Palates tricked

By the familiarity

Of sight over taste.

Fight

The Fright of flight

From common trends

Ego-dystonic ideals

Blend.

Chalk and cheese

They remained.

Confused by

Society’s dictate-

Vanilla should equate

Distaste.

As they sat facing

The frozen desert afore them

Circles of perception met

Roles transcending

Yet always having to conform

Yin met yang

Each with a dot within

Ending a story

That should have never begun

As the swirls of black and white

Melted into a muddy brown.

Performed by Julie C. Sheppard

POEM:

He is life,
A great, mystical tree,
Symbolic in nature,
Eternally free.
She is root,
Hidden, deep below,
With a foundation enduring,
She is a mystery to know.
Combined is the essence of Him.
Revealed is the depth of love Divine,
Captured, perfectly, over a history of time.
Good and bad,
Back to their own identity.
As it was in the garden,
The One tree of serenity

In the white sunbeams of a forgotten fall
A poor soul was screaming in vain;
I’ve found myself in a dazzling castle’s hall
Looking for the lost ballroom, sweet love’s reign…
How come beauty never revealed itself before?

Golden gardens on walls white as snow
Kept by doric columns, rooted in a marble floor
Silver key doors locked, lost in the wind’s blow
Chasing the moment, open every pine door;
Broken windows, shiny crystals all spread.

At the end of the hall, two massive black doors,
Slowly open at feather touch, tainted blame,
Oh, burning red fondness never felt before…
A charming man waltzes alone, held pain:
“Dance with me and life shall never be the same.”

Ardent footsteps on the ballroom floor
Until the evening sun made a shy greeting
Two strangers in the night, turned into gore,
The blood dripping from my hands, awful feeling:
“There’s no longer waiting for my fitting.”