Revenge


The Queen died with no funeral

For silence’s ordered by the Black General

Obedient to his will, acted my all except an anxious breath

Couldn’t I mourn my Knight’s birth on Queen’s death

Like a blind; what I never enjoyed, I can’t worth

And how am I supposed in grief to welcome my birth!

My Knight’s born over Universe throne

Everyone bowed to the gold he shone

Kidnapped me tranquility to paradise

To wake me later a shocking surprise

"Moon Gate" Painting by Tone Aanderaa

“Moon Gate” Painting by Tone Aanderaa


To me the proud knight’s
kneeling down

Kissing me freedom
as embracing my head his crown

No more the feet
touch the ground

I’m a butterfly
that  
jasmine abound


Ripened secrets like
maple sugar seep

Lost which to pick and to which yearns my deep


Finally chose the secret of secrets; The Rock

It was heavier than Gibraltar’s rock

That I fell back ground; ceased breath

I fell to fall again and deeper to my Knight’s death

The Queen came back to revenge my Knight

Revenging me too, for I didn’t mourn her last night;

But why? Can a slave grieve the death of the arrogant ruler of the empire?

And how? Have you ever heard; sun’s been mourned by a Vampire?

A Vampire who’s brought to life only over her cold cell

And as coldness steals warmth, she sends him back to hell

Signature

Ghostly Night

Ghosts in a run

Stealing safety; having fun

Conquering a tranquil town

Leaving beauty in fear to drown

Blowing blindness everywhere

Altering a dream to a nightmare

Waiting guards to sleep to kidnap the moon

Leaving a bride, on her wedding night, cry her groom

Invited couples getting mad

Ghost satisfied and glad

"Water Dancing" Painting by Rob Gonsalves

“Water Dancing” Painting by Rob Gonsalves


Has it died before birth

next morning!

Too early stars
declared mourning

Careless clouds too
did weep


Guardian Angels
were having a deadly sleep

Breaking the first rule
in closing their eyes

Leaving Cold’s Ghosts control
what’s beyond the seven skies


Ticks ticked pity, yet heart of time’s so vacant

Striving; Silver finally escaped; back impatient

Impatient to see how looks his bride

And anxious to have her by his side

But there she is with rivers of pain flooding on her lap

Shall the wedding start now after confusion has taken a nap!

“And what’s after the nap”, everyone’s to wonder!

Silence before a storm! And too soon may break silence; thunder…

Signature

Gate Eleven

 

 When faith troubles

Guilt just doubles

Happiness withers away

Innocence fades with sun’s last ray

Yet never rises again on the next day

"The Gate" painting by Yordan Dimitrov

“The Gate” painting by Yordan Dimitrov


Faces of roses
lose charm

Incense
carries harm

Conquer devils churches’ rear

Turns a holy bond
to a venomous spear

Honest rhythms disappear


Purity escapes dawn

Evil winds moan

Putting off love in each bedroom

Kissing death either the bride or her groom

Overshadows a lasting gloom


Time anchors in a thrill

Everyone’s gone writing his final will

Adam and Eve have set fire in heaven

Spread wide Hell’s gates that count to eleven

Eleven they’ve become, for Mankind wasn’t satisfied by The Deadly Seven

Signature

Lusty Candles

The ocean touches grace

When sun kisses its face

Then dives in deep

Leaving nature to weep

Passionate gets the dusk breeze

Robins seek a hide in deserted trees

Sky puts on its black gown

Few Diamonds shimmer its crown

Darkness embraces with fears

Till the glittering moon appears

Over faces smiles return

In bedrooms lusty candles burn

For lovers to sprinkle charms

Lashes ravel mysteries for arms

Lips invite moisture to lounge

And greedy ones all passion scrounge

On beds of roses, emotions wallow

Even ache there tastes mellow…

“Vita Memorae” Painting by Vladimir Kush

That’s only one show, and summer’s crowded of similar nights

Where nothing stops the beat even red lights

Summer’s beauty certainly brushed with magic

Wish it never fades away in a nature’s show; so tragic

Soon snow will crawl through the dark like a thief

Stealing life from every hanging leaf

And acting like a wild whore;

Knocking down the safety behind every door

Soon thunder will trigger violence

Killing with no mercy romantic silence…

Three months a summer and nine spent in remorse

Yet no complaint may change nature’s changing course…

November’s Blossom

Seems like hundreds of years flew away

On a heart with no beat struggling to stay

November the 6th was the date

When it skipped some beats to a classmate

The whole world dwelled in his eyes

Beaming blue as our eternal skies

Forbidden dreams there were born

Fatal silence by screams worn

The World in his world I did see

Yet to notice, blind was he

Once again I wasn’t right

Left I turned when Right was right

Between friendship and love born pain

I chose friendship, but reached for vain

For I couldn’t control a lost beat

His shadow by me left no empty seat

But I chose the hardest, and it was a lone choice

I set sail, but haunts my time his voice

“Plum Blossoms” painting by Jia Lu


Fear over years grew

Tears cut but never sew

Finding no peace in my roam

Flew back again home

It was a sweet November day;

The sixth since I sailed away

The way drove me to an old road

Along, trees and breeze composed an ode

There I was on school’s gate

Once again a slave of fate

Memories stormed inside

Couldn’t find any shelter to hide


Until a tender hand woke my shoulder

I turned to see who dares making my reborn beats molder

Paralysis stroke my storm when eyes met


“I knew I’ll find you here; I do regret

Didn’t know how precious you were till you sailed the seven seas

Leaving me ticks to count and a beat hard to ease

I’ve waited you for so long

Your heart is where I belong”


I grabbed all the courage I could

To set fire on a wet wood

Drenched in tears for years

But then stole my voice cruel fears

And I found myself hiding in his bosom

November’s no more in Fall; there I was in blossom

Last Supper


Fallen walls; awaited guest

Silent calls; hidden passion request

Dancing Balls under my chest

 

Rise… Fall… Rise again then fall

Fibers ache to answer your every call

Vivid thoughts bringing pieces to a whole

“A Glass of Merlot” painting by Victor Bauer


Come in; baptize me with your wit

Gaze in to my eyes and cross me, so I’m lit

Let’s dine fish and wine before we split

 

Stay more; don’t leave me alone

Have another glass; let’s share another dawn

For this; only for this I’ve taken of life a Loan


Be no angel; O’ at least not tonight

Embrace me with your arms not with your light

Allow me pull off the curtain to what you ignite

 

Be no angel; invite me to share a lone sin

Pour your scent over thirsty skin

Set a breath-race and let’s see who’ll win

 

One tender kiss painted over pink

One touch arousing silk beneath the silk

One.. Only one promise signed with vein-ink

Gratitude Garland

Don’t know if you’ve heard of this before but a dear has knocked my day with such a garland; the very fragrant of his arrangement was gratitude…

“”The yearly Līgo celebration happens every summer solstice in Latvia.
At this time we adorn our heads with Līgos of flowers, oak leaves, grasses & 
plants
We join circles around bonfires and celebrate life & our appreciation of each other.”

Here’s how it works:

  • Complete this sentence about blogging: ”A great blog is…”
  • Refer back to the blogger who invited you
  • Invite 2 bloggers to join the Līgo Circle of Appreciation on a post

To get to know the Ligo Circle of Appreciation among fellow bloggers,
please check:
http://esengasvoice.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/ligo-circle-of-appreciation/ “”

First allow me pay special thanks to the very person in blog-world
who rises fallen skies with his ever-glowing light;
Wendell on 
http://foreverpoetic.me;
Thanks dear not only for crowning me with those flowers of appreciation, but for your blessings because as Alan Cohen said:
“Appreciation is the highest form of prayer, for it acknowledges the presence of good wherever you shine the light of your thankful thoughts.” 

Moving to <what a great blog is>, I’ll breathe it in brief:

It’s a four-season-zone 
where
Spring-Thoughts bloom, Summer-Light twinkle,
Fall-Wisdom loom and Winter-Melodies jingle…

Reaching the nomination part; I’m supposed to encircle only two bloggers though those I appreciate can’t be counted in a One-digit-number.

Pawan blogging as http://awakeningpsyche.wordpress.com/;
His thoughts are like wine, the more you drink the more you’ll wish for more…
&
Alex on http://thepoeticgoblin.wordpress.com/;
He weaves stories that ask for no guitar along as they play the strings of every heart they reach…


O’ and as usual I don’t like bothering you with many posts of this kind, so allow me pay thanks to two more bloggers for awarding me the One Lovely Blog Award:

Thanks to Gentle Will. on http://managuagunntoday.wordpress.com/;
A man of talents & you’ve to hold your beat to his Haiku..
& to Sweet Sur. on http://drsuraiyanasim.wordpress.com/;
A woman of wide heart, broken yet purer than snow..

I won’t bore you with the rules or any of that; but I’d like to gift this award to:

Finally my love to all: the mentioned & unmentioned …

Routes of Time

“The Palm Reader” painting by Ang


I’m a fortuneteller on routes of time

No pocket but years I loot and that’s no crime

 

Before; haunted were the castles, and now cold’s every hut

In between; found no home, yet homeless I’m not

My mattress changes with age of asphalt floors

And my blanket with sky’s to pray

And the sun opens ways I’d never stray

The rain falls to wash my sins

And lightning over thunder-fear wins

 

I’m a fortuneteller on routes of time

No pocket but years I loot and that’s no crime

 

Crawl to me the desperate, diseased and denied

Their misery: heart-breaking and I’m relieved only when they leave with pride

Call me kings, queens and their royal trees

Their ordering tone I hate and say no word before their “Please”

Stop passersby dropping me money

My blood boils; I’m a bee that sweats to make her own honey

When will the ignorant realize;

I’m no beggar and no pity I prize!

 

I’m a fortuneteller on routes of time

No pocket but years I loot and that’s no crime

Counted Ticks


Fallen from her original tone she said, “10 days late”

My grounds rose till skies whispered, “240 more you’ve to wait”

Bringing together fibers from joy gone apart

The special date was carved on the calendar of my heart


Feed the chimney; dust off the cold

Paint the room in ivory and gold

Plant jasmine and sprinkle life’s essence

Sing psalms and burn incense

Invite the sun, stars and the moon

An Angel will arrived home too soon

My Princess

 

Deep in my heart born a symphony of time

Composing a welcome-note in love rhyme

Tick-tuck… woke up dawn waking pain in her deep

With each contraction, my beats did leap

One.. Two.. Three.. and the fourth accompanied with a cry

Showing up with the first ray saluting sky

The ray destined to erase chill

O’… her name shall be Rachel

August’s most beautiful rose

Look at those tiniest toes!

Shall I count! O’ no; I’ll count no more

You’re between my arms now; the only one I’ll ever adore

The Artist


Pink blooms, Green dances and Blue swirls

Neither is it nature’s twinkling dress, nor ocean’s glittering pearls

Not even a Wizard’s stick leading amazed beats to rush

And what’s magic compared to a true Artist’s brush!

A Painter who paints anything from nothing and in no time

A Musician that every atom everywhere sings his rhythm and rhyme

A Writer that bring his words meaning to Philosophy and Wisdom

A Poet that immortality builds his floating kingdom

“Eternal Father” painting by Challe

His tears; the rain…
his cold sweat; the snow

His breath; a morning breeze that if anger wakes through becomes a tornado

His smile; the sun shine
and fog is his frown

Clear blue sky; his cape
and the rainbow; his crown

His blink; lightning
and through his cords dwells thunder

A magician that black magic to his
did surrender


The Prime Judge that holy books were written to his law

The King that all kings to his presence bow.


Carving him in words, most famous poets prattle

For no language ever has won such a battle

Even monks aging in his love become slaves to silence

Every time they’re asked about him, they ask for guidance.


Perhaps Art is our only way to touch his glory

He’s The Artist and perhaps Art is his Life’s story…