Verses Upon The Flaming Wings Of July

God’s word is not just to be heard and repeated; it is to be breathed, lived, and emulated with each action. — Steve Maraboli

Without You, I could have never walked among the low clouds, perfectly white
in hue and shade
the street looks like an unfinished painting,
perhaps an epiphany just waiting for a passerby to see certain events
through a prism of new light in the story
dear wounded, worn and wanting I am conscious of dampness that comes
before the rain,
of chasms where darker demons dwell in the mind
and now the threads of longing in a chapter waiting to be read are starting
to unwind.

There is tranquility in the hours of early morning, with birds bringing
sweet high notes,
there are many who had come to pry me open
there are many who had come searching for answers that were never present,
as though attempting to clench water into their hands
they promised me that their words were forged in steel
I suppose they never realized you can’t delude light with the threat of darkness
the world
as I know is comprised of shadows and wild patch of woods
that beg to be explored,
you can either step in holding hands with courage or forever be knocked back
by the brutal winds of confusion.

The city has put in new blooms, with flashes of amber and rouge pink
before me the future
behind me the past, I wonder if He can listen to my heart pounding
amidst chaos and din
for it’s an odd and bewildering thing to feel that you don’t belong to any place
and person on earth,
I am determined not to let worries lead me astray from the path
they often come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.

I am conviction, I am fire, around increasing twilight I am an open book
of prayer

dear wounded, worn and wanting I am conscious of breath coming in episode
let your ruffled souls rise from the ashes
and though dark your dreams remember that dawn is never too far behind
I move on forward without flinching through the sweltering heat
of summer
my faith akin to law engraved in a fledgling heart,
why do you forget that in order to fly we must first forget the ground?
Without You I could have never walked among the low clouds, perfectly white
in hue and shade.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United

& on Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub

Nothing is quite as rare as a Thursday evening in June

One glossy stretch of bougainvillea pink perched, stately, atop
the balustrade
so beautiful in its glory that I silently wept,
I wish to instill twilight song in the passageway of your mind
where sorrow lives,
offer the reflection of cloud in a mid-June lake
in disbelief I observed the wind which seems to want nothing more
than to wipe your tears,
I wish to become lost in low hum of traffic, in surrounding trees
and gusting chorus.

Towering between your brooding silence and my attempt at conversation
is the sky,
as thunder echoes across the urban landscape
love, I am unafraid though scent of bougainvillea would be washed away
I’d rather focus upon the darkest flecks of your eyes
in them I witness the mountains where time comes to a halt,
where nature needs not apology and memory’s free from clamor of sin
I could drink in their hue all night and day.

Do branches express their joy through violent rustling?
Is desire akin to fragrance of coppice and berry trees wafting in the wind?
One step into the dappled sunshine,
and you will know just how important it is to think with your heart sometimes
I am struck again and again by euphoria of children
tugging upon their mother’s sleeve,
for purpose of harvesting tomatoes and dark-sweet cherries,
perhaps
it was destiny that led me to indulge in mirth and laughter.

I wish to instill hope in the passageway of your mind
where sorrow lives,
offer the world in exchange for dimples in your chin,
it’s true that two people close to each other don’t always share
the same perspective,

you are coconut white whereas I am ebony black
I wish to embrace deserted streets, empty foyer and words faded into wilting
yesterday
(though I admit I had yet a lot to say)
One glossy stretch of bougainvillea pink perched, stately, atop
the balustrade
so beautiful in its glory that I silently wept.

 

Photo credits: Kazuo Kasai, Watercolor Painting, Pinterest

Posted for ‘Kerry’s Challenge’ @ Real Toads

Posted on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Don’t Tell The World You’re Waiting

Clean hands undulate an unsightly place,
as beautiful night beholds a shapely thing
in order that elegant group makes long study.

While a gorgeous home feels plain at times,
a drab day bursts before an unkempt world
even though dazzling job makes stocky people.

Fancy coffee feels as though a magnificent thing,
as long as
glamorous life slays long problems
so that bald facts arise shortly after a year.

 

 

Photo credits: Hummingbird Bakery, Alien Ted, Flickr

Posted on Exquisite Corpse Solitaire @ Real Toads

Also sharing on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Prologue – Being A Woman In Times Like These

Among small wet pebbles that outline the fury of sun,
there lie fragments of one thousand and one sea glass
their once glossy surface flat and dark with some having tell-tale
signs of blood,
I unsheathe myself and embrace vulnerability,
as eyes, filled with shadows, thumb through me like a manuscript
my heart
a broken paragraph where despotism is tried and embedded
into the skin,
a series of violet tears spread
promising that a day will come when we will cross the bridge,
fall hard or breathe harder
it’s so simple when you put it like that,
unaware that silence is all that’s left in the end, we cannot unlearn
the fresh taste of trepidation

nor forget words that were whispered into the ear,
but rise
get up from lying because a bridge is unbiased,
it has no preference whatsoever
you have created this burning need for insurgence to prevail
in society,
touching me is the wind as feeling sets fire into my throat
you took me unwillingly
now watch as the sky rewrites our tale and hits just the right note of equity.

 

Photo credits: Henry Asencio, 1972

Also written for Sherry’s prompt where she invites us to contemplate “The Handmaid’s Tale.” 🙂

Posted for “Midweek Motif- Bridge” @ Poets United

& posted for “Wordy Thursday With Wild Woman” @ Real Toads

Also sharing on the Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub

For purposes of restoring a weather-beaten heart

There is no prerogative in the realm of human affairs 
nor breath of air that isn’t tinged with sadness,
a faultless poem if such were ever to be composed
would speak of love as heaven sent
and the moon as epitome of understanding in a plum delia sky,
why is the rosella its own worst enemy?
Why does recognition only appear around stretch of dawning?
At this time of the year I would usually break down
as dust settles upon relics of a bygone age
but there’s something about the way your words touched me
as honeysuckles bloom into summer crossings,
I am thinking of you
of what it would be like hearing you read my work out loud
as hours lead us slowly away from June.

 

 

Photo credits: Tarot Cards by Nicoletta Ceccoli, “The Shell Deck” @ellasedge

Posted on Guest Appearance: Ella Wilson @ Real Toads

Also sharing with “the Poetry Pantry” @ Poets United

Last Night I Wandered Through The Hills Of Dreaming

The hills that lie congenial by day like confidants of land
are darkly ominous by night,
here in a world where there is nothing but chaos
they say I looked back out of impetuosity,
in search of an untouched canvass upon which to leave a mark,
I am struck by beauty that’s unapologetically herself
the flirty fuchsia of roses that define life in endless lines of thoughts
and expression which my poems only tease.
Why does darkness approach from outside?
Why is the colour grey doused in both despair and light?
If I can spot a serpent glide out from a maculate shade, can I convince him
not to become
the devil’s advocate?
Let us go to the other side now that you know my face by heart
and indulgence as adversary at the crack of dawn.

 

 

Photo credits: Eli Edward Evangelidis, @eliedwardart

Posted for Art Collaboration @ Real Toads