Nothing is happier than knowing our existence
We are born with a purpose
Life isn't here for nothing
Life is shared like a leaven bread.
Nothing is happier than knowing the right person
Knowing is like swimming the ocean floor
Excavating the ground for ore
Connecting someone for happiness.
Nothing is happier than knowing yourself
Knowing is like looking glass self
Showcasing skills and talents to all
Knowing to love and to be loved.
Nothing is more happier than knowing God
Acknowledging that everything we have are all His
We came from dust and dust we go back
All life, beauty and affluence all because of Him.
In fields of burnished gold,
the sun dips low like a projected dream horizon.
A gentle glow of breath that-glimmers
of hope's holy word,
uttered in reminder in the darkest hour.
"In God, trust".
A beacon of thoughtful provoking light,
is not just love's August power,
it is Lidar excavating, stasis-star activating
a "calling" time,
a culling of heretical designs.
In the silence of the stars,
a settled dust of rebellion is quenched,
order and titles given to those who
held their first loves first estate of many mansions overlooking the stormgates of derision,
the faith of deliverance in the maelstrummed
eddy's of Pride's Vacuum-song,
where there is none beget,
but self induced prisons and dulcet keys of rattled bone.
But in the "Calling" of Christ (Home) we are returned,
turned to be release of wild hearts,
set free to be reborn.
Happiness is easily found in a multitude of the sweetest components
Grateful for you, often swept from the feats, of our hours, sharring meaningful moments
Your citrines comprised burning bright; scorching everywhere
As an orbited sphere; willed they are a perfect solar flare
Climbing a summit inside my thoughts; that is all you
Beside me, you wrap me up while we both enjoy the view
One could mine for eternity; excavating nothing valued; seeking a gem worthy of a crown
But, I would stop digging at the surface of the earth; if it matched your eyes, superfluous shade of brown
We were not doing well,
the chipmunk was excavating our front step,
nibbling away at our foundations.
The chipmuck was a metaphor.
The garden peach tree developed a blight,
the fruit rotted on their stems.
and that was some kind of metaphor,
for our words had poisoned the soil.
I began to believe in angels,
those fleet of wing metaphors
that carried other metaphors.
to those who misinterpreted
the plain English of
love and hate.
After the divorce, we grew closer,
even though it was over,
the separation brought us together,
in the same unravelling metaphor.
You read its cryptic signs,
and found solace in their obtuseness.
I translated them into Urdu,
then sought the advice of stray cats.
In the end we riddled it all out.
We were happier apart,
yet we were still both living metaphors,
for the poetry yet to come.
Between two houses on my street,
There is a plot of land
Where many trees have towered,
Just as Nature must have planned.
But ribbons tied around the trunks
Appeared out of the blue
And now today, what showed up
Was an excavating crew.
The chain saws bit into the bark
With their annoying sound,
Then a backhoe pushed and boom!
The trees went crashing to the ground.
How sad to see these trees destroyed;
It can’t be helped, albeit
When land was cleared to build my house,
I’m glad I didn’t see it.
He was withdrawing;
inside his eyes he cleaned the glass of his spectacles
they were worn thin now and only looked inward.
Nuclear weapons were threatening
the circuitry of a million neurons,
a conceptual forest of wooden perceptions
had been targeted by alien guineapigs,
helmeted ants were excavating his mind.
He muttered a question to himself:
What's a guy to do when the world
locks you out. even, attacks your long held reality?
What gives when the rope has no more 'give' in it?
He called his dead mother
(the cell phone was really that smart),
she replied from the outer-rings
of some milky nowhere.
"You should get out more,"
said the ethereal voice of the dearly departed,
"stop writing ambiguous and quixotic
letters to yourself."
"Mayb tomorrow," he replied uncertainly,
then he put the phone back
into its shock-proof bunker
at the deepest center
of his hive-humming brain.
It crumbled altogether,
yet its black root dug itself yet deeper.
Perhaps I had been grinding
nocturnal jaws together -
excavating bone.
A tender spike remains
above the gum,
it pulls at the mind
wanting to be touched
by a cringing tip of tongue.
The dentist is digging his way through.
a knee on my chest
tugging and sweating.
My face feels like it has caved inward,
I suckle the stale air of my throat
through a mouth washing hose.
He grunts. challenged
by the stubborn stump.
I encourage him with my eyes.
They crinkle at the sides
laughing at a joke
we both shall tell later.
Oh! how gracefully the trees, flaunting splendor lilt
Swaying autumn’s palettes in rhythms of winds ruby
As the sun is setting, flaming glow of gamboge skies
Amber breeze is blushing rosy glimmer of eventide
And robins are excavating pecking on decaying lawn
Where ducks are ambling, ogling seductive bond
Amid people strolling, pausing to gaze at opaline arc
Floating crimson filaments on tinted purple canvas
Enhanced by falling colors whirling mellowed vibes
In twilight’s golden ambiance alluring romantic eyes
Gleam of eve’s fading, ceding reign to peeking moon
As scent of you appeals, quiescently enveloping me
Enchanting where I sit, under twinkling stellar magic
Enticed by euphony of mockingbird’s sensuous song
Articulating for me eloquently, love is never too far
When autumn blazes passions titillating lovers’ hearts
October 20, 2021
Placed 1st: Let’s Mix It Up Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Nature
Unrhymed couplet/Unrhymed imagism/Free verse
You, always searching.
Searching through the remains of dusty city archives
That led you wandering, through rows of granite headstones
Where lifeless identities lay.
Searching through the remains of dusty city archives
The melancholy, haunting, ghostly, faded images
Where lifeless identities lay;
Excavating crumbled lives, stuffed in moldy folders.
What is the future without a past?
Silently, harboring loss and abandonment;
In the shadows you clung to glimpses of hope,
With dreams of your mother's opened arms.
Silently, harboring loss and abandonment;
Relentlessly you continued your vigil, to search
With dreams of your mother's opened arms.
When science revealed our past,we embraced the future.
I dip from my well whenever I am lonely
I pull from this well every time I feel lost
It is my secured secret hiding place only
Excavating this hole came with a high cost
It was hand-dug; covered with an old wood plank
The water is now putrid and too moldy to drink
It was my grandpapa’s well; I have him to thank
I pour in a bottle of bleach to help cover the stink
I don’t pull it to drink it; it’s not for consumption
I use it on my green garden; especially the plants
I like knowing that it is still in prime operation
It kills the crawling pests; including the fire ants
My well is a treasure trove of long-gone memories
Ten generations relied on the spring water it gave
I will not fill it in; It has seen tragedies and victories
It was dug with human labor by long-ago slaves
My well knows my voice; yet, will not make a sound
I look down its stony neck for creative inspiration
To me, it is more than just a dark hole in the ground
It stands on hard-fought land for future generations
Heal the world!
Heal the world!
Heal the world!
How many times shall I raised my voice saying "heal the world?"
Great Doctors and Scientists all fall along the way,
What happens to the righteous and conquerors in faith?
Will we sit and allow pandemics like Covid-19 to treat us like slaves?
Will we be happily excavating our son's and daughters' graves?
I guess,
It's a mistake!
Diclofenac Potassium tablets resist our throats,
From malaria to the soul's throat,
Which sort of problem is this?
God need to interfere,
Or the Globe shall turn poor.
My outward is great,
But inward is dirty
Shall I put thee to the wall
Before you hear my request,
Or shall I judge you
Before you put thy ears?
Heal the world!
Heal the world!
Heal the world!
Shall I worship gloves instead of your words?
Shall I wash my hands
Before reading through your scriptures?
Arise in anger,
And remove this plaque from among us.
Umpteen questions
popping up in mind
Lot many thoughts,
it has to surmount
Did I do anything harm?
Did my deeds hurt them?
Why do people betray?
Why they do emotional play?
Why there are so many religions in debate?
Do all the gods together confabulate?
What if the earth is flat?
The sky is above us, what if not?
What to choose? This or that or both?
Does it help in my growth?
What's there in my basket?
Will I hit my target?
Excavating buried memories
Dreaming of the victories
Seeking for the answers straight
Bridling the swirling thoughts,
Again and again and again
Exhausted is my little brain
Refused to sleep, drink and eat
Until it noticed a bar of chocolate
Aug 2 2021
The sun-soaked meandering valley of my lucent life
Drained by the cadence of elated stream swirling
Around the cluster of glimmering gold nuggets
Carved out of life’s valued golden moments.
With the sailing sediments of euphoria dislodged
The sparkling pieces roll on the turbulent time
In the torrent of the cloud-burst falling sky
Flow to the flood plain of obscurity far.
In search of transported treasure trove eroded
Buried beneath the strata of stagnant time past
I wade through the marsh of submerged existence
Excavating the layers of memory in tranquil twilight.
In the light of the setting sun fading so fast
Each time the surged tide of turmoil ebbs out
I exhume the gems of memory from sands of time
Retrieve the gilded instants I had once lived to adore.
___________
June 30, 2021
Title Chosen : An Excavation
Contest : This Or That, Vol. 4
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
In my mind
Buried deep
Are memories
To which I leap
A little time without frustration
I start digging, excavating
What do I want to re-explore today?
Comedy, Thriller or Romantic
I enjoy looking back
Hard as times were
I pushed through and emerged
That’s what brings me back from the verge
Fascinating how far one can dig
As far as infancy
To those little clips of my life
That I remember so vividly
Change is just in the body
The mind remains intact
The same for all my life
I made with myself a pact
To excavate whenever I feel low
A happy memory
That makes me smile instantly
And this, I consider a victory.
19 June 2021
This or That, Vol 4 Poetry Contest
Title chosen: 'An Excavation'
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
I have a book of bones,
it props up bookend shadows
a frame and spine for all other books
as yet unearthed or published.
Poetry is all about bones,
it gives clouds bones,
myths their bones,
boneyards their bones.
A book being only images of bones,
has much white space between them,
there you will find delving writers
excavating words from bones.
Today I picked through the book,
prizing rib bones apart
seeking out a heart bone,
off course I found none
I found only a lot of words
for ‘Heart’,
However, some of those words
were actually invisible Love-Bones,
bones that held all other bones
and words - Together.
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